* 


A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 
A.    KEITH    FRASER 


A  GARDEN  OF 
SPICES 


BY 

A.  KEITH  FRASER 


"Were  plants  ne'er  tossed  by  stormy  wind, 
Their  fragrant  spices  who  could  find?" 


HODDER  &  STOUGHTON 

NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1913, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


TO  ALL 
KNIGHTS  OF  THE  SILVER  HAIR 

WHO  LOVE 
LITTLE  CHILDREN 


2135449 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  GARDEN  OF  SWEET  MEMORIES  .     .       9 

II  THE  DEPARTURE  OF  THE  DRAGON      .     .     19 

III  THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  MEADOW     ...     28 

IV  WHERE  THE  RIVER  DIVIDES    ....     40 
V    LADIES  OF  THE  KITCHEN 53 

VI  THE  SECRET  OF  THE  WATERS     ...     70 

VII  A  DAY  OF  SOLEMN  THINGS    ....     84 

VIII    A  LITTLE  SACRAMENT 102 

IX  GRANDFATHER,  THE  ELDER     .     .     .     .119 

X    A    KNIGHT-ERRANT 145 

XI    THE  LONDON  LADIES 157 

XII  THE  MAGNETISM  OF  HENDRY      .     .     .178 

XIII  THE  SORROWFUL  WAY 189 

XIV  LIKE  AS  A  FATHER 205 

XV    IN   THE   GLOAMING .  217 

XVI  THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  GATES  ....  236 

XVII    SCOTTISH   MARTYRS 248 

XVIII  FAREWELL  TO  BARBARISM       ....  268 

XIX  ROSES  AND  FORGET-ME-NOTS  ....  277 

XX  A  PASSING  BELL    .......  289 

AFTERMATH 302 


A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 


A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

CHAPTER  I 

THE    GARDEN    OF    SWEET    MEMORIES 

THE  wind  blows  softly  from  the  south  in 
the  garden  where  I  lie  all  day.  Roses  and 
stocks  are  blooming  all  around  me.  Sweet-peas 
are  fluttering  like  butterflies  in  the  breeze. 
Stately  Madonna  lilies  stand  sentinels  by  the 
gate. 

In  the  evening,  when  the  tide  is  low,  and  the 
bees  have  ceased  their  humming,  and  the  moon 
shines  in  a  silver  pathway  over  the  sea,  I  still 
lie  here,  in  an  atmosphere  heavy  with  the  fragrance 
of  sweet-scented  stocks,  and  evening  primroses 
opening  their  pale  chalices  to  the  moonbeams.  It 
is  a  garden  of  sweet  scents. 

Then,  sometimes,  there  comes  upon  me  a  great 
longing,  and  my  heart  aches  with  the  memory  of 
past  loves.  I  cry  aloud  with  the  sacred  poet  to 
the  north  wind  to  awake  and  blow  upon  my  gar- 
den that  the  spices  thereof  may  flow  out. 

9 


10  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

And  from  the  north  there  comes  a  zephyr  laden 
with  perfumes,  and  lo!  there  is  thyme,  and  sweet 
marjoram,  and  rosemary,  and — alas ! — rue.  And 
the  garden  from  which  they  come  lies  in  the 
north  and  is  flanked  by  purple  hills.  It  is  the 
garden  of  sweet  memories. 

Between  the  currant-bushes  and  up  the  grassy 
paths  there  flits  the  figure  of  a  little  child.  A 
solitary,  old-fashioned  little  child  in  a  cotton 
frock,  pin-spotted  with  lilac,  a  lilac  sunbonnet 
dangling  by  its  strings  down  her  back,  and  ruddy, 
corkscrew  curls  of  an  auburn  shade  clustering  and 
bobbing  round  her  head. 

She  is  generally  alone  and  yet  never  lonely. 
Who  could  be  lonely  with  birds  and  bees  and 
butterflies  and  caterpillars  all  around*?  I  say 
caterpillars  advisedly.  There  were  such  dainty 
speckled  beauties  on  the  gooseberry-bushes,  shim- 
mering in  their  robes  of  green.  They  went  into 
such  charming  families  when  gathered  into  a  little 
toy  sugar-scoop.  Fathers  and  mothers,  brothers 
and  sisters,  even  tiny  babies  sometimes  amongst 
them.  To  an  only  child,  with  none — or,  at  least, 
only  one — of  all  these  things  belonging  to  her, 
the  collective  families  made  fascinating  history, 
and  many  stories  of  romance  clustered  around  the 


GARDEN  OF  SWEET  MEMORIES     11 

caterpillars.  (Even  now  I  hesitate,  as  I  pick  a 
green  caterpillar  or  two  off  my  roses,  and  say  to 
myself,  "There's  Annie,  and  John,  and  James, 

and  Peter "  and  then  stop  short,  ashamed  to 

find  that  in  my  sober  middle  age,  with  the  hair 
grown  grey  about  my  temples,  I  am  making  fam- 
ilies of  caterpillars  tell  stories,  as  in  the  old 
days.) 

Sometimes,  down  the  grassy  path  there  strides 
the  figure  of  a  man  looking  for  the  child.  A  man 
of  fine  physique,  tall,  erect,  and  somewhat  stately, 
albeit  the  thickly  clustering  rings  of  hair  on  his 
shapely  head  are  silver-white,  and  his  old-fash- 
ioned black  silk  bow  tie  and  Gladstonian  collar 
proclaim  the  gentleman  of  the  old — and  courtly 
— school. 

He  would  call  in  a  deep,  mellow  voice, 
"Where  is  she?"  And  then  the  child  would 
come  out  from  amongst  the  bushes  with  her  cater- 
pillars. 

They  would  then  wander  away  together,  hand 
in  hand,  children  both,  for  he  who  loves  Nature 
is  ever  young.  She  with  dreamy  eyes  not  long 
opened  to  the  glories  of  a  beautiful  world,  he  wkh 
his  dark  ones — dreamy  too,  misty  a  little  with 
age — fixed  on  the  purple  hills,  and  beyond,  where 


12  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

the  dim  faces  of  his  far-away  youth  haunted 
them. 

They  are  both  only  shadows  now,  for  both 
have  long  passed  away.  The  man  to  become 
young  with  everlasting  youth;  the  child — ah, 
well !  she  lies  here  in  this  southern  garden,  dere- 
lict, and  the  lot  of  the  invalid  is  hers. 

But  this  is  a  little  tale  of  true  love  and  so 
should  be  worth  the  telling.  For  the  hearts  in 
the  north  country  are  true  as  steel,  although  it 
may  be  that  they  lack  some  fluency  in  the  expres- 
sion of  their  deepest  feelings.  The  love  of  a  man 
for  a  maid  is  of  perennial  interest  everywhere, 
but  especially  in  a  garden,  from  the  Garden  of 
Eden  to  the  Garden  of  Paradise,  where  true  lov- 
ers meet  again.  And  when  its  theme  is  the  love 
of  three  men  for  one  lucky  maid  (and  she  a  little 
one),  it  should  be  better  still. 

I  hardly  know  what  name  to  call  him  who  was 
her  first  love  unless  I  call  him  "the  Laird,"  which 
is  the  one  by  which  he  was  best  known.  He  had 
been  "the  young  Laird"  for  many  a  day,  to  dis- 
tinguish him  from  his  father,  the  old  one.  Then 
he  was  promoted  in  late  middle  age,  when  the 
memory  of  his  father  had  faded  a  little  from  the 
countryside,  and  "the  Laird"  he  remained,  till  he 


GARDEN  OF  SWEET  MEMORIES     13 

was  no  laird  at  all,  and  owned  no  land  except 
what  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  churchyard  of 
his  forefathers. 

It  is  sad  to  relate  that,  even  as  the  serpent 
frequented  the  Garden  of  Eden,  so  there  was  a 
dragon  in  this  northern  one.  The  Dragon  was  in 
human  shape  and  of  feminine  gender.  She  wore 
a  mob  cap  with  frills  on  her  jet-black  hair,  which 
was  smoothly  parted  in  the  middle  and  plastered 
down  on  each  side  of  her  somewhat  angular  face. 
She  had  a  hard  mouth,  a  firm  chin,  and  eyes  that 
were  sometimes  green,  and  sometimes  grey,  and 
sometimes  black,  and  could  flash  fire  when  they 
liked.  And  then  they  were  very  fearsome  to  be- 
hold. 

In  short,  she  was  a  nurse — or,  to  be  more  exact 
— a  nurse-housekeeper  of  the  old  school.  In  her 
pocket  she  carried  a  pair  of  leathern  "tawse,"  and 
she  believed  in  no  spoiling  of  the  child  by  sparing 
of  the  rod. 

She  also  would  come  wandering  out  into  the 
garden,  knitting  a  long  grey  stocking,  her  grim, 
severe  lips  compressed  till  they  looked  but  one 
straight  line  across  her  colourless  face,  and  the 
children — at  play,  perhaps,  with  daisy-chains 
hung  round  their  necks,  or  fuchsias,  tied  with 


14  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

thread,  dangling  from  their  ears  for  ear-rings — 
would  spring  guiltily  away  from  each  other,  and 
it  would  be  difficult  to  say  which  face  was  the 
reddest,  the  grown-up  man's  or  the  child's. 

She  would  give  them  a  withering  look  and  pass 
on,  and  the  man  would  try  to  look  dignified — a 
difficult  matter  when  one  is  lying  flat  on  one's 
back,  covered  with  docken-seeds,  with  a  wreath, 
perhaps,  of  ragged  robin  and  corn-flowers  twined 
amongst  one's  curls. 

Sometimes  they  stole  a  march  on  her.  Then 
they  would  slip  out  of  the  back  door,  and  mount- 
ing Donald  Dhu,  a  shaggy  Highland  pony,  would 
gallop  off  together  to  the  foot  of  the  Grampians, 
to  feast  on  nectar  and  wild  strawberries.  Donald 
Dhu  on  these  occasions  would  quite  enter  into  the 
spirit  of  the  thing,  and,  snorting  defiance  at  the 
Dragon,  would  shake  his  tawny  mane  and  spring 
forward  like  a  winged  steed.  In  the  heart  of  the 
cup-shaped  moor,  with  the  purple  mountains 
standing  guard  all  round,  the  two  children  would 
dismount,  leaving  Donald  Dhu  in  the  fairies' 
charge,  and  wander  hand  in  hand  amongst  the 
heather  with  Dame  Nature  for  their  nurse. 

For  it  was  the  Golden  Age  for  them  both.  To 
the  little  maid  it  had  come  earlyt  and  would  pass 


GARDEN  OF  SWEET  MEMORIES      15 

early.  To  the  man,  in  his  vigorous  old  age,  it 
had  come  late.  Life  had  flitted  past  him  with 
empty  hands,  till  his  child,  who  was  not  his  own, 
had  come  across  his  path,  and  the  latent  paternity 
in  his  heart  had  been  stirred  into  being. 

They  lunched  by  the  cool  trickle  of  a  moun- 
tain spring.  From  his  pocket  there  came  a  col- 
lapsible tumbler  of  tartan  india-rubber,  or,  if  it 
had  been  forgotten  in  the  hurry  of  departure, 
there  were  his  hands,  large,  strong,  supple,  the 
white  hands  of  the  gentleman,  which,  curved  to- 
gether, formed  a  fine  drinking-cup  fit  for  a  lady. 
There  were  also  oatcakes,  done  up  in  clean 
writing-paper,  in  his  pocket,  and  skim-milk  cheese, 
and  what  more  would  you  have,  with  the  air 
whistling  through  the  crevices  of  the  Grampians 
for  a  draught  of  champagne,  and  hunger  for  a 
sauce?  Ambrosia,  fit  for  the  gods. 

It  would  be  long  past  dinner-time  ere  the 
truants  returned  home  again,  and,  after  handing 
Donald  Dhu  to  his  caretaker,  on  nearing  the 
gable  end  of  the  house,  where  the  Dragon  sat 
sewing  endless  white  seam  by  the  kitchen  window, 
there  would  be  a  marked  change  in  their  de- 
meanour. 

The  child  would  slink  with  lagging  footsteps 


16  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

behind,  while  still  clinging  tightly  to  the  firm 
wrinkled  hand  with  the  gold  nugget  ring  on  it. 
Her  cheeks  would  blanch  and  her  heart  would 
beat  a  tattoo  loud  and  fast. 

The  man  would  then  straighten  himself  up 
and  his  well-knit  limbs  assume  a  stride.  His  lips 
were  firm,  his  head  well  back,  as  he  approached 
the  Dragon. 

"We  have  returned,"  he  said  firmly;  "I  am 
afraid  we  have  torn  this  frock" — exhibiting  a 
large  jagged  tear  in  the  front  breadth  of  the 
child's  dress — "but  it  is  only  cotton,  it  will  soon 
mend."  (How  like  a  man!  Soon  mend,  in- 
deed.) "We  will  have  our  dinner  served  in  the 
study,"  he  continued,  and  turned  to  walk  away. 

The  Dragon  opened  her  mouth  to  speak,  and 
shut  it  again  with  a  snap  of  unclenched  teeth. 
She  breathed  rather  than  said,  "Yes,  sir."  She 
had  risen  respectfully  and  dropped  her  white 
seam,  but  her  lips  were  white  with  their  rigid 
compression,  and  her  downcast  eyes  showed  flick- 
ers of  lambent  flame  underneath.  At  least,  so  the 
child  thought. 

"Did  you  speak?'  asked  the  Laird,  wheeling 
round  in  response  to  a  low  murmur. 

"I  only  said,  sir,"  replied  the  Dragon,  with 


GARDEN  OF  SWEET  MEMORIES      17 

great  meekness,  "that  Miss — Elspeth  had  missed 
her  midday  sleep." 

She  hesitated  over  the  word,  to  which  her 
tongue  was  somewhat  unaccustomed,  but  he  was 
so  unmistakably  the  Laird  that  the  Dragon  was 
cowed  and  had  even  to  treat  the  child  with  re- 
spect. 

"She  will  have  her  sleep  after  dinner,"  he  re- 
plied. "Take  her  to  wash  her  face  and  hands 
and  bring  her  to  the  study  to  dine  with  me." 

Then  he  strode  along  the  stone-flagged  passage, 
which  led  from  the  large  pleasant  kitchen  to  the 
rest  of  the  house,  with  loud  clank  of  heel. 

With  soft  step,  and  ominously  controlled  voice, 
the  Dragon  led  the  child  away,  washed  her  face 
and  hands  in  silence,  covered  her  tatters  with  a 
large  white  pinafore  and  pushed  her,  a  few  min- 
utes later,  in  at  the  study  door.  So  ominous  was 
the  silence,  so  vicious  the  push,  that  the  child's 
spirit  quailed.  Not  even  the  joys  of  a  late  after- 
noon dinner  kept  hot  in  the  oven,  with  freshly 
fried  potatoes,  brought  back  the  colour  to  her 
cheeks  or  the  light  to  her  eyes. 

"You  are  tired,  my  dearie,"  said  the  gentle 
Laird,  stretching  a  tender  hand  across  the  study 
table  and  taking  the  small  freckled  one  in  his 


18  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

own.  "You'll  be  better  for  a  rest  in  your  own 
little  beddie." 

He  thought  nothing  of  it  when  a  watery  smile 
was  all  his  answer. 

Dinner  over,  he  rested  quietly  in  his  big  study 
chair,  a  Greek  tome  on  his  knee,  a  gay  crimson  silk 
handkerchief  spread  over  his  silver  curls.  "She's 
very  tired,"  he  said,  "she'll  be  the  better  for  a 
sleep.  The  air  of  the  Highlands  is  strong,"  and 
slipped  off  himself  into  the  land  of  dreams. 

Whilst  upstairs,  behind  double  baize  doors, 
which  screened  the  Dragon's  haunts  from  the 
paths  of  men,  there  arose  the  heart-broken  sobs 
of  a  motherless  child  and  the  sharp  sound  of  the 
leathern  tawse. 

When  King  Solomon  wrote  that  oft-quoted 
verse  about  the  rod,  he  did  not,  in  spite  of  his 
wisdom,  know  that  rods  are  not  in  it  compared 
with  the  Scottish  instrument  for  training  up  a 
child  in  the  way  it  should  go. 

But  all  this  happened  long  ago,  and,  doubtless, 
a  new  and  much-indulged  generation  knows  it 
not. 


CHAPTER  II 

DEPARTURE    OF    THE    DRAGON 

IT  fell  on  a  day,  a  bright  summer  day,  when 
the  corn  was  ripening  fairly,  that  Davy  Mc- 
Lelland  brought  a  freshly  painted  cart  up  to  the 
back  door,  drawn  by  Star — that  fine  steed  on 
whose  broad,  brown  forehead  there  shone  a  snow- 
white  star  of  the  first  magnitude. 

Davy  looked  with  some  pride  at  his  cart  with 
its  brilliant  colouring  of  blues  and  reds,  his  own 
neat  brushwork.  Inside,  a  layer  of  clean  straw 
covered  the  floor.  On  both  sides,  planks  covered 
with  carpet  stood  on  low  trestles  for  seats.  It 
was  a  chariot  fit  for  a  king. 

Upstairs,  the  child  Elspeth  was  being  deftly 
robed  for  the  road  by  Mistress  Kate,  the  Laird's 
housekeeper.  Now  Mistress  Kate  was  a  comely 
and  douce  young  woman  about  thirty,  with  a  pleas- 
ant face,  a  bright  smile,  and  crinkly  hair  of  a  flaxen 
shade  that  was  never  much  tidier  than  the  child's 
own  refractory  curls,  for  it  would  break  out  into 
big  ripples  and  waves  wherever  it  could.  She  was 

19 


20  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

undeniably  a  person  to  ask  questions  of,  so,  al- 
though questions  were  strictly  forbidden,  the  child 
could  not  resist  asking,  while  Mistress  Kate  with 
deft,  quick  fingers  buttoned  on  a  little  white  pique 
pelisse  and  tied  the  broad  ribbons  of  a  big  Leg- 
horn hat  under  her  chin. 

"Where  am  I  going  to?" 

"To  the  station,"  responded  Mistress  Kate, 
somewhat  more  blithely  than  the  occasion  war- 
ranted. 

Then  the  child  pondered  a  minute,  for  there 
were  no  signs  of  packing  around. 

"Who  with?"  she  whispered. 

"You'll  see,"  whispered  Mistress  Kate  back. 

Davy  was  still  admiring  his  fine  handiwork 
when  they  came  downstairs. 

"Now  lift  her  up,  Davy,  and  there's  a  nice 
soft  shawl  for  her  to  sit  on." 

So  Davy  swung  the  child  up,  remarking  as  he 
did  so: 

"What  a  fine,  heavy  little  Miss  ye  are  gettin'." 
Then  grumbled  aside  to  Mistress  Kate.  "If 
she's  no'  quick  wi'  her  graund  packin*  she'll  miss 
the  train." 

Then  there  suddenly  appeared,  dragging  a  box 
with  some  flutter  of  haste,  the  Dragon  in  her  best 


DEPARTURE  OF  THE  DRAGON.    21 

clothes.  Her  black  bonnet  was  spangled  with 
jet  flowers,  and  the  beads  on  her  Sabbath  jacket 
glittered  in  the  sun  with  a  shimmer  of  jet.  In 
her  hands  she  carried  black  kid  gloves,  to  be  strug- 
gled with  later.  She  was  flushed  and  her  eyes 
were  red.  If  dragons,  like  crocodiles,  could 
weep,  one  would  say  she  had  been  weeping. 

She  glanced  rapidly  at  the  seating  of  her  little 
charge,  and  hauled  in  with  one  hand  the  tin  box 
Davy  handed  up  to  her. 

"We'll  hae  to  mak'  haste,"  he  said,  climbing 
quickly  up  to  his  perilous  seat  on  the  edge  of 
the  cart.  "Trams'll  no  wait.  Haud  ticht,  noo." 
And  so,  with  a  smart  crack  of  the  whip,  a  rattle 
of  freshly  painted  cart-wheels  on  the  cobble-stones 
of  the  yard,  and  gallop  of  Star  to  catch  the  train, 
they  were  off.  With  such  haste,  indeed,  that  the 
Dragon  and  the  child  fell  in  an  ignominious  heap 
beside  the  tin  box  in  the  straw,  and  took  some 
time  in  the  readjusting.  Hens  cackled  and  ducks 
flew  in  all  directions  out  of  their  way.  It  was  a 
royal  departure. 

After  rumbling  heavily  over  the  bridge  and 
rattling  down  a  hill,  Star  slackened  speed  some- 
what, and  devoted  himself  to  more  quiet  progress 
along  the  straight  line  of  white  road  which 


22  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

wended  its  weary  miles  to  the  station.  The 
Dragon  put  on  her  gloves,  carefully  inflating  them 
before  she  did  so,  and  drawing  the  child  to  her 
other  side,  so  that  she  should  hear  the  conversa- 
tion less,  began  to  talk  in  a  low  voice  to  Davy. 

At  first  nothing  was  audible  but  occasional 
snatches,  such  as  "Taken  ill  last  week."  "No 
expected  to  live  through  the  night."  "Leaving 
a  grand  testimony  behind  him,"  interspersed 
with  "Ay,  ay,"  from  Davy.  "D'ye  say  that, 
woman1?"  and  "Hoots!  lots  o'  fouk  get  better;" 
by  which  the  eavesdropper  gathered  that  the 
Dragon  was  anticipating  a  bereavement. 

Then  the  conversation  became  a  little  louder 
and  more  personal. 

"A  child  of  wrath,"  said  the  Dragon. 

"Hoots !  no.     Ye' re  ower  strict,  woman." 

"I  dinna  like  leaving  her,"  said  the  Dragon. 

"Oh,  the  maister'll  look  aifter  her  fine,"  con- 
soled Davy.  "He's  a  graund  man  wi'  the  bairns." 

"Him !  A  muckle  bairn  himsel',"  retorted  the 
Dragon,  reverting  back  to  her  natural  Doric  in 
her  contempt.  "Juist  a  muckle  bairn." 

There  was  an  interlude  of  silence  here.  Then 
the  Dragon  groaned  again : 


DEPARTURE  OF  THE  DRAGON     23 

"A  child  of  wrath.  A  spoilt  bairn.  Father, 
grandfather,  the  Laird,  all  spoiling  her." 

"All  except  you,"  said  Davy  grimly. 

"I  try  to  do  my  duty,"  said  the  Dragon  se- 
verely. "It  is  not  easy.  You  know  what  King 
Solomon " 

"Hoots,  woman,  haud  your  wheesht!  King 
Solomon  was  a  gey  lad  himseP.  He  cudna  man- 
age his  ain  hoose,  let  alane  ither  fouks." 

The  Dragon  waxed  wrathful  at  this  disre- 
spectful remark,  and  there  ensued  a  long  string  of 
adjectives,  of  which  the  child  of  wrath  (whom  a 
sudden  jerk  of  Star,  in  response  to  the  crack  of 
Davy's  whip,  had  precipitated  once  more  into  the 
bottom  of  the  cart)  caught  but  a  few. 

Rude,  obstinate,  self-willed,  lazy,  sulky,  bad- 
tempered — like  the  rest  of  the  red-headed  folks, 
curly  hair  too,  which  made  it  ten  per  cent  worse 
— caring  nothing  for  the  Sabbath,  disobedient, 
selfish.  A  veritable  daughter  of  perdition  surely. 
The  Dragon  harked  back  to  ingratitude. 

"Cares  nothing  for  anybody,  so  doesn't  care  a 
bit  about  my  going  away." 

"Mebbe  she  disna  ken,"  mildly  expostulated 
Davy. 


24  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

Here  the  Dragon's  eye  fell  upon  the  culprit 
plaiting  straw  in  the  bottom  of  the  cart.  She 
dragged  her  up  by  the  arm  suddenly,  shook  her, 
and  set  her  down  with  a  bump  on  the  seat,  clutch- 
ing her  hand  firmly  so  that  she  should  not  go 
again,  and  addressed  her  point-blank: 

"Are  you  sorry  I  am  going  away*?" 

Scottish-like,  the  child  asked  a  question  quietly 
in  return. 

"Is  it  for  altogether*?" 

"I  told  you,"  groaned  the  Dragon  to  Davy. 
"She  cares  for  nobody,  not  even  for  me  who  has 
done  everything  for  her  and  been  a  mother  to 
her  all  her  days." 

"Wheesht,  wheesht,  woman!  Ye're  sorry,  are 
ye  no1?"  Davy  said,  turning  round  in  his  seat  to 
look  at  the  small  monster  of  depravity,  "that  yer 
kind  nurse  is  going  away  for  a  month." 

O,  Davy,  Davy,  there  was  a  twinkle  in  your  eye 
when  you  said  it! 

The  child  gazed  at  him,  but  she  said  nothing. 
Long  repression  had  taught  her  that  silence  is 
golden.  In  other  words,  she  had  learnt  the  mel- 
ody of  the  closed  mouth.  Was  she  sorry?  Not 
a  bit  of  it.  Glad,  glad  in  every  fibre  of  her  small 
being.  If  a  rift  in  the  blue  above  us  showed 


DEPARTURE  OF  THE  DRAGON     25 

us  a  glimpse  of  Paradise,  would  we  be  sorry*? 
No.  A  thousand  times  no.  So  she  said  nothing. 

Davy  turned  his  large  body  round  so  as  to 
face  her,  and  looked  at  her  reproachfully. 

"Say  ye' re  sorry,"  he  said.  "I  am  sure  ye 
are.  .Ye're  sorry  that  your  nurse's  faither's 
deein',  an'  she's  going  away  for  mebbe  a  month, 
an'  mebbe  1  anger." 

Now  she  knew.  But  she  was  not  sorry.  Not 
a  bit  of  it.  Like  the  young  lambs  upon  the 
mountains,  even  so  did  her  soul  skip  within  her. 
A  month!  Joy  of  joys!  In  the  harvest  time 
too,  with  the  Laird  all  to  herself,  and  nobody, 
literally  nobody,  to  find  fault. 

"Hae,"  coaxed  Davy,  handing  her  the  reins. 
"Say  ye're  sorry,  and  I'll  let  ye  drive  the  rest  o' 
the  road  to  the  station  noo." 

She  looked  at  the  tempting  reins,  but  did  not 
attempt  to  take  them.  For  this  was  bribery,  and 
she  was  not  sorry.  She  was  glad,  and  to  say  she 
was  sorry  would  be  a  lie,  and  she  was  only  too 
well  aware  where  liars  went. 

The  Dragon  snatched  the  reins  angrily. 

"Ye're  like  the  rest,  Davy,  ay  spoiling  her. 
She's  a  bad  girl  and  she's  not  sorry  one  bit.  I 
ken  her.  She  shall  never  drive  me." 


26  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

At  that  there  was  a  quiver  of  the  culprit's  lips, 
and  real  tears  welled  up  in  her  eyes. 

"I  am  sorry,  now"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
But  I  fear  me  it  was  over  the  loss  of  the  reins  she 
was  sorry. 

While  this  discussion  had  been  going  on,  the 
reins  hanging  loose,  and  his  master's  back  turned 
to  him,  Star  had  been  taking  things  easy.  He  had 
helped  himself  to  a  low  branch  of  birch  hanging 
over  the  road,  and  between  cannily  chewing  it, 
and  flicking  his  tail  to  keep  off  the  flies,  had 
dropped  into  a  funeral  pace.  He  was  leisurely 
walking  over  to  the  shadiest  side  of  the  road  for 
coolness  when  Davy  turned  round  again.  At  that 
moment  a  sharp  puff  of  smoke  showed  the  ap- 
proach of  the  train  out  of  a  distant  tunnel. 

"Losh !  we'll  never  catch  it,"  cried  Davy,  lasrj.- 
ing  up  his  steed,  and  between  rumble,  and  gallop, 
and  clatter  of  tin  box  in  the  rear,  there  was  no 
more  time  for  conversation,  and  they  dashed  into 
the  station  in  the  same  grand  style  they  had  left 
the  farm-yard,  reaching  it  simultaneously  with  the 
train.  There  was  no  time  even  for  good-byes, 
and  the  tin  box  was  nearly  left  behind  in  the  com- 
motion. 

And  behold!   the   Dragon's   eyes   were   again 


DEPARTURE  OF  THE  DRAGON     27 

dewy  as  she  was  bundled  hastily  into  the  last  rail- 
way carriage,  and  it  was  a  damp  handkerchief 
which  she  waved  from  the  window  as  she  went  out 
of  sight.  But  the  eyes  of  the  child  in  the  cart 
were  dry. 

Then  from  somewhere  out  of  sight  a  gig  came 
rattling  up,  with  Donald  Dhu  dancing  and  curvet- 
ing after  the  departing  train,  and  the  Laird  sitting 
smiling  on  the  seat.  There  was  a  hasty  transfer- 
ence enacted,  and  now  with  head  erect,  and  Leg- 
horn hat  hanging  rakishly  in  its  most  frequent 
place,  down  her  back,  the  Child  of  Wrath  held 
the  reins  with  proud  satisfaction,  and  Donald 
Dhu  was  soon  trotting,  with  his  two  conspirators 
behind  him,  away  down  the  ribbon-like  stretch  of 
road,  bound  for  the  open  country  with  Elysium 
at  the  end. 

And  Davy,  lying  leisurely  in  his  empty  cart 
far  behind  them,  chewing  a  straw  for  company, 
sang  softly  to  himself  with  a  pawky  smile  on  his 
face  as  Star  drew  him  leisurely  homewards: 

"Wha'll  be  King  but  Charlie." 

As  the  Laird's  name  was  Charles  it  sounded 
very  appropriate,  and  was  a  bit  of  dry  humour 
on  Davy's  part. 


A 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    QUEEN    OF    THE    MEADOW 

S  into  each  life  some  rain  must  fall,  so  it 
seems  to  me  that  into  each  life  there 
comes  at  some  time  or  other  a  glimpse  of  Para- 
dise. It  comes  generally  in  childhood,  when  the 
eyes  are  clear,  and  the  spirit  is  untarnished  with 
the  stains  of  earth. 

I  saw  a  ragged,  barefooted  child  once  in  the 
back  streets  of  my  own  grey  native  town.  Her 
face  was  blue  and  pinched  with  cold,  the  biting 
north  wind  whistled  cruelly  through  the  many 
openings  of  her  tattered  garments,  her  bare  feet 
were  covered  with  chilblains.  But  in  her  eyes 
there  shone  the  peace  of  Paradise.  She  had 
found  the  end  of  a  broken  whisky  bottle,  and 
after  filing  its  jagged  edges  on  the  granite  curb 
was  playing  "peaver"  with  it.  I  do  not  know 
the  English  equivalent  for  the  name  of  "peaver," 
nor  do  I  know  its  mysteries,  except  that  it  is  con- 
nected in  some  mystic  way  with  the  scores  on  the 

pavement. 

28 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  MEADOW     29 

As  she  hopped  backwards  and  forwards  on  one 
blue  leg,  pushing  her  bit  of  jagged  bottle  before 
her,  she  kept  count,  "Ane,  twa,  three,  fower." 
Big  flakes  of  snow  fell  on  her  face,  but  she  heeded 
them  not.  I  doubt  if  she  even  saw  them.  Turn 
and  turn  again.  "Ane,  twa,  three,  fower,"  as 
the  snow  fell  faster  and  faster.  Not  till  the 
pavement  was  covered  and  all  its  divisions  oblit- 
erated did  she  desist.  Then  she  ran  "home"  with 
a  look  of  fear  on  her  face.  In  the  years  to  come 
that  girl  would  look  back  upon  "peaver"  on  an 
icy  pavement  as  a  game  played  in  Paradise,  and 
would  never  remember  either  the  cold  or  the  fear 
of  what  was  to  come  after. 

But  to  the  child,  Elspeth,  whose  lines  were 
cast  in  pleasant  places,  and  whose  summers  were 
spent  in  Arcady,  there  were  vastly  different 
glimpses  to  remember.  Especially  during  that 
summer  when  there  was  no  Dragon. 

To  wake  in  the  morning  and  find,  instead  of  a 
hard,  severe  face  bending  over  you,  a  round,  be- 
nignant one,  probably  with  spectacles  on,  fresh 
from  his  morning  reading.  To  be  greeted  with 
smiling  looks  instead  of  sour  ones.  To  sally  out 
in  the  early  morning  to  look  at  the  calves.  To 
scatter  corn  amongst  flying  hens  out  of  one's 


30  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

pinafore.  To  breakfast  on  ham  and  eggs,  in- 
stead of  porridge,  not  only  on  the  Sabbath  but 
on  every  day  of  the  week.  To  wander  down  the 
burn-side,  and  to  be  allowed — oh,  joy  of  joys! — 
to  take  off  one's  shoes  and  stockings  and  dabble 
amongst  the  minnows  with  one's  bare  toes.  To 
sit  on  a  shepherd's  plaid  on  the  bank  and  listen, 
while  clever  male  fingers  twisted  rushes  into  dolls' 
cradles  (how  did  he  learn,  I  wonder?),  to  thrill- 
ing tales  of  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans,  and 
glorious  Scottish  heroes,  Wallace,  Bruce,  and  the 
rest,  with  the  burn  tinkling  a  musical  accompani- 
ment all  the  time. 

And  then,  best  of  all,  to  watch  the  Laird,  his 
coat  and  waistcoat  thrown  off,  his  soft  wideawake 
hat  on  the  back  of  his  curls,  hard  at  work  cutting 
clods  on  the  bank  where  the  burn  was  deepest 
with  a  big  pocket-knife.  What  were  they  for? 
Watch  him  and  you  will  see. 

First  he  gathered  big  stones  and  placed  them 
across  the  burn.  Then  he  cut  his  turf  and  rolled 
it,  packing  it  tightly  between  the  stones.  It  took 
days  in  the  making,  and  the  sun  was  hot,  but 
slowly  it  resolved  itself  into  a  dam.  All  this  was 
because  the  child  of  his  affections  had  expressed 
a  desire  to  bathe.  She  should  have  a  bathing- 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  MEADOW    31 

place  then,  fit  for  a  queen,  in  the  clear  limpid 
water  of  the  'burn,  with  the  surprised  minnows 
playing  hide-and-seek  around  her. 

Then  on  one  never-to-be-forgotten  day  in 
August,  when  the  golden  grain  was  whispering 
towards  the  water,  and  the  meadow-sweet — that 
rival  queen — scented  the  banks,  they  went  down 
together  for  the  disrobing.  First  the  Laird  de- 
posited a  brown-paper  parcel  on  the  bank  at  her 
feet,  and  retired  with  his  newspaper  to  a  little 
distance,  where  a  bend  in  the  burn  hid  him — and 
her — from  view. 

"You  will  come  to  me  my  dearie,  if  you  can't 
undo  the  buttons,"  he  said,  as  he  disappeared. 
And  the  child  gravely  opened  the  parcel,  and 
drew  out  a  towel  and  a  small  white  flannel  night- 
gown. I  think  she  managed  all  the  buttons,  and 
disrobed  herself  in  the  bright  sunshine.  Then 
she  went  to  him  to  fasten  the  band  of  the  night- 
gown. And  behold!  she  was  suddenly  seized 
with  a  great  fear.  Like  many  older  and  wiser 
persons,  the  desire  of  her  heart  was  within  her 
grasp,  and  she  shrank  from  it  in  terror  of  the  un- 
known. 

The  shadows  fell  upon  the  water.  It  was  deep 
— for  her.  It  was  undoubtedly  cold. 


32  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

"I'm  frightened,"  she  said,  with  a  catch  in  her 
breath.  "I  want  you  to  come  too.  I  want  you 
to  bathe  with  me." 

At  that  the  Laird  laughed. 

"My  dearie,"  he  said,  "it  is  not  deep  enough 
for  me.  When  I  bathe  I  like  the  river  to  swim 
in.  This  is  but  a  fairy  river,  for  a  little  fairy 
like  yourself  to  bathe  in." 

"Oh,  but  I'm  afraid,"  she  said,  trembling. 

Then  of  course  he  took  off  his  shoes  and  stock- 
ings (and  the  stockings  and  garters  which  he  wore, 
after  the  fashion  of  his  youth,  were  a  great  sur- 
prise to  her),  and,  rolling  his  trousers  up,  held 
her  hand  and  gently  waded  in  with  her  to  the 
bath. 

It  was  very  cold,  and  deeper  than  she  liked, 
and  she  cried  "Oh!"  many  times.  Then  she 
grew  braver,  and  let  go  his  hand  to  dab  her  curls 
with  water,  to  prevent  herself  from  taking  cold, 
after  the  fashion  of  the  Dragon  at  the  seaside. 
That  duty  done  she  bobbed  solemnly  up  and 
down,  the  nightgown  swelling  out  round  her  like 
a  balloon.  Braver  still,  and  with  a  splash  she 
was  in,  swimming  for  dear  life  with  her  knees  grat- 
ing on  the  pebbles  and  her  arms  spread  out  like 
wings. 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  MEADOW     33 

Then  the  Laird  laughed  again  and  left  her  to 
herself,  and,  sitting  down  on  the  bank,  timed  her 
by  his  big  silver  watch. 

And  now  there  was  no  getting  her  out.  The 
Laird  said  "Time's  up"  several  times,  and  she 
cunningly  made  a  great  splashing,  so  that 
she  could  not  hear.  So  he  looked  grave  when  she 
caught  his  eye,  as  she  turned,  laughing,  for  the 
last  time. 

"You  must  come  out  now,"  he  said.  It  was 
a  tone  to  be  obeyed,  and  she,  recognising  it  as 
such,  came  out  at  once. 

But  oh!  the  joy  of  that  daily  bath  through  the 
happy  weeks  that  followed.  To  see  Mistress 
Kate,  blithe  and  smiling  and  crinkly-haired,  take 
the  dripping  nightgown  from  them  when  they 
reached  home,  and  hang  it  on  the  hedge  to  dry, 
with  never  a  word  of  scolding  for  the  extra  work 
to  either  of  them,  was  an  awakening — a  vision 
of  what  a  good  housekeeper  ought  to  be. 

And  when  at  last  the  reapers  came  to  cut  the 
corn  in  that  field  by  the  bathing-place,  so  that 
there  could  be  no  more  daily  baths,  well,  there 
were  other  joys  to  take  their  place. 

Surely  it  was  a  joy  to  ride  backwards  and  for- 
wards in  the  carts.  Rattling  in  the  empty  ones, 


34  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

tossed  up  like  a  pancake  over  the  rough  fields, 
with  never  a  thought  of  headaches  and  digestive 
troubles  waiting,  with  added  years,  round  the 
corner.  To  ride  back  with  dignity,  like  a  real 
queen  in  her  chariot,  on  the  top  of  the  rich,  fra- 
grant pile  of  golden  grain,  held  on  by  the  Laird's 
strong,  loving  arm.  Those  were  the  golden  days 
indeed. 

All  too  soon  the  harvest  ended,  only  the  last 
sheaf  of  corn,  "the  maiden,"  remained  in  the 
fields  for  "little  Miss"  to  cut.  She  had  hard 
work  to  cut  it,  for  they  would  not  give  her  a  hook, 
still  less  a  scythe,  and  the  Laird's  big  pocket- 
knife  was  desperately  blunt  after  so  much  turf- 
cutting.  But  at  last  it  was  done,  and  "the 
maiden"  was  carried  home  in  triumph,  to  be  tied 
with  blue  ribbons,  and  put  in  the  place  of  honour 
for  the  Harvest  Home  that  evening,  and  to  keep 
there  to  bring  good  luck  and  a  plenteous  harvest 
for  the  ensuing  year. 

Never  had  Elspeth  been  in  the  country  so  late 
in  the  year,  and  she  was  never  there  again,  so  it 
was  impressed  very  indelibly  upon  her  memory. 
All  her  life  she  would  never  forget  the  evening 
of  that  Harvest  Home,  and  would  see  the  low, 
old-fashioned  farm-kitchen,  decorated  with  its 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  MEADOW    35 

brightly  polished  tin  and  copper  utensils,  its  hams 
dangling  from  the  oaken  rafters,  with  all  the  bustle 
and  commotion  of  preparation  for  the  supper  in 
the  back  kitchen,  and  the  clearing  of  the  front 
for  the  dance. 

When  they  were  all  assembled,  men,  and  maids, 
regular  farm-hands  and  strays,  the  Laird  and  she, 
hand  in  hand,  led  off  the  first  dance.  She  was 
unmistakably  Queen  of  the  Assembly,  and  I  fear 
she  was  very  proud.  She  shook  out  her  diminu- 
tive skirts  of  white  embroidered  muslin,  she 
fingered  the  necklace  of  pearl  beads  Mistress  Kate 
had  given  her — never  before  had  she  been  per- 
mitted to  wear  anything  so  elegant — and  she  tossed 
her  curly  mane,  with  its  wreath  of  late  honey- 
suckle round  it,  those  curls  which  Mistress  Kate 
could  never  twist  into  such  stiff  corkscrews  as  the 
Dragon,  and  she  showed  off  very  greatly.  On 
every  side  there  was  admiration. 

"Well  done,  little  Miss!" 

"Isn't  she  a  clever  one*?" 

"Just  like  a  little  fairy  dancing." 

It  was  enough  to  turn  any  child's  head.  And 
so,  when  the  Laird,  having  done  his  part  in  open- 
ing the  dance,  retired  to  his  study,  and  the  farm- 
hands danced  reels  to  their  hearts'  content,  and 


36  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

clamped  with  their  heavy  boots  through  the 
mazes  of  the  country  dances,  shouting  "Hooch !" 
with  as  much  frequency  as  they  liked,  the  child, 
Elspeth,  jinked  in  and  out  amongst  them,  grow- 
ing ever  wilder  and  more  excited  as  the  night  of 
dissipation  grew  longer. 

When  the  fiddler  paused  and  the  dancers 
rested,  holding  up  her  tiny  skirts,  she  danced 
pas-de-seul,  with  crimson  cheeks  and  sparkling 
eyes,  down  the  middle  of  the  long  kitchen  for  all 
to  see.  Many  hand-clappings  followed  these  dis- 
plays. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  one  of  them  that  she 
suddenly  became  conscious  of  some  adverse  in- 
fluence, as  if  a  disapproving  eye  were  watching 
her.  She  stopped  a  moment  and  looked  round 
on  all  the  kindly,  smiling  faces.  No,  there  was  no 
disapprobation  there.  Nothing  but  approval  and 
admiration. 

Then  she  tried  to  peer  into  the  darkness  of 
the  long  trance,  or  passage,  which  separated  the 
kitchen  from  the  rest  of  the  house.  The  trance 
was  dimly  lit  by  a  small  hanging  oil  lamp,  and 
in  the  darkness  beyond  there  clustered  the  faces 
of  some  who  did  not  dance — wives  and  mothers 
of  the  men  and  maids,  whose  dancing  days  were 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  MEADOW    37 

over.  The  adverse  influence  seemed  to  come 
from  there. 

Boldly  she  danced  up  to  the  dimness,  fingering 
her  pearls.  All  should  own  her  sway.  She  was 
elated  and  excited  with  the  evening's  long  tri- 
umph. It  was  now  well  past  midnight. 

She  pranced  gaily,  and  they  made  a  way  for 
her  up  the  passage.  She  had  nearly  reached  the 
end,  when,  from  amongst  the  silent  and  dark 
spectators,  a  hand  was  suddenly  stretched  out — a 
hand  like  the  hand  of  Fate,  hard  and  knobby — 
and  she  was  kidnapped.  That  is  the  only  word 
for  it.  Through  the  door  that  led  to  the  front 
hall,  through  another  door  leading  up  to  the 
stone  staircase.  So  swiftly,  so  silently,  was  it 
done  that  she  was  upstairs  in  the  large  room  be- 
hind the  baize  doors  before  she  was  missed — 
before  she  barely  had  time  to  recognise  her  captor. 

But  in  the  light  of  a  small  chamber  lamp  she 
had  now  no  difficulty  in  doing  so.  For  there 
stood  the  Dragon,  come  back  at  the  eleventh  hour ! 
How  much  had  she  seen  of  all  that  mincing  and 
prancing?  How  much  had  she  heard  of  the 
clapping  and  praise?  From  the  flash  of  her  eyes 
when  the  lamp  was  turned  up,  and  the  thunder- 
clouds on  her  face — than  which  the  crape  on  her 


38  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

new  dress  was  no  blacker — the  Dragon  had  seen 
everything!  Grim  and  terrible  she  approached 
the  trembling  child.  And  as  Fate  with  her  shears 
cuts  asunder  the  thread  of  our  lives  and  shatters 
our  idols  before  our  eyes,  so  did  the  Dragon  seize 
the  pearl  necklace,  that  emblem  of  pride,  and 
holding  it  firmly  in  her  strong  hands,  break  the 
thread  on  the  child's  neck.  Hither  and  thither 
in  every  direction  ran  the  released  pearls,  and  as 
she  saw  each  one  the  Dragon  stamped  upon  it, 
shivering  its  beauty  into  a  thousand  fragments 
of  paltry  crushed  paste,  even  as  our  most  cher- 
ished idols  are  shivered. 

Then,  turning  to  the  child,  she  slapped  her, 
first  on  one  plump  arm,  then  on  the  other. 

"Set  you  up,  indeed,"  she  said — slap — "with 
your  awful  pride" — slap — "and  your  mincing 
steps" — slap — "and  your  tinkling  cymbals" — 
slap — "you'll  go  straight  to  the  Father  of  Pride" 
— slap.  And  a  great  deal  more  that  I  think  I 
shall  not  write,  for  it  makes  my  heart  sore  even 
to  think  of  it. 

It  was  half  an  hour  later  before  the  Dragon 
went  down  again  to  the  festivities,  leaving  the 
dethroned  queen  sobbing  in  her  bed  in  the  dark- 
ness as  if  her  heart  would  break.  Her  sceptre 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  MEADOW       39 

was  broken,  her  faded  honeysuckle  crown  was 
thrown  out  of  the  window,  her  jewels  were 
trampled  upon,  her  kingdom  was  passed  away, 
her  poor,  tired  little  body  was  worn  out  with 
pain  and  fatigue.  Verily  it  is  but  an  uneasy 
head  that  wears  a  crown ! 

Whilst  far  away  in  the  kitchen  there  sounded 
the  scuffling  of  the  dancing  feet  and  the  merry 
laughter  over  the  old  country  dance,  "Sir 
Ronald  MacDonald." 

"A'  yer  richt  feet  in, 

An'  a'  yer  left  feet  oot, 
Shake  them  a  little  within, 
An'  whirl  yersels  aboot. 

Hey,  Sir  Ronald  MacDonald, 

And  hey,  Sir  Ronald  MacDh" 
Hey,  Sir  Ronald  MacDonald, 
We're  a'  roarin'  fu'." 

Which  was  not,  strictly  speaking,  true  as  they 
were  all  absolutely  sober.  They  were  only 
enjoying  themselves  very  thoroughly. 


CHAPTER  IV 

WHERE    THE    RIVER    DIVIDES 

THERE  was  no  garden  belonging  to  the 
grey  house  in  the  square  where  the  child, 
Elspeth,  lived  all  the  year  round,  with  her  father 
and  the  Dragon,  in  the  town,  except  for  the  few 
halcyon  weeks  which  she  spent  with  the  Laird  in 
the  country  in  the  summer.  Only  a  small  paved 
yard  at  the  back,  surrounded  by  high  houses, 
which  could  never  by  any  possibility  be  called  a 
garden.  But  there  were  others  within  reach. 
Nature's  gardens,  only  a  short  way  out  of 
town,  in  wooded  hills  and  by-paths.  There  was 
also  the  Garden  of  Sleep — a  very  beautiful  one 
— lying  high  on  a  rocky  tableland,  where  one 
could  see  the  sun  setting  behind  the  purple 
peaks  in  the  distance,  till  one  felt  as  if  the  Pearly 
Gates  which  opened  into  Holy  City  itself 
were  just  beyond  them. 

There  were  several  entrances  into  this  beauti- 
ful garden,  lying  high  above  the  grey  town, 
where  the  river  divides,  and  the  Angels  keep 
guard  over  its  quiet  inhabitants. 

40 


WHERE  THE  RIVER  DIVIDES      41 

One,  the  main  one,  was  often  thrown  wide 
back,  and  a  policeman  stood  to  guard  it.  Then 
there  would  come  sometimes  a  great  crowd  of 
warriors  in  garbs  of  woe,  sword-handles  swathed 
in  crape,  and  crape  on  sleeves,  marching  to  the 
roll  of  muffled  drums  playing  the  Dead  March, 
or  the  pibroch  wailing  "Lochaber  no  more." 
On  a  gun-carriage  would  follow  the  one  who 
slept,  with  the  accoutrements  of  his  warfare 
pathetically  grouped  upon  his  coffin.  And,  if 
he  had  been  mounted  in  the  days  of  his  strength, 
his  horse  would  follow,  with  the  empty  saddle  on 
his  back  and  his  master's  empty  boots  dangling 
at  the  stirrups.  And  eyes,  dimmed  by  the 
passing  of  the  gun-carriage  and  the  soul-melting 
music,  would  brim  over  at  the  pathetic  figure  of 
the  dumb  animal,  grief-marked  in  every  curve 
of  his  beautiful  form,  as  he  kept  careful  step  with 
the  muffled  drums,  his  soft  dark  eyes  with  that 
strange  look  of  despair  in  them,  which  is  so  often 
seen  in  the  petted  animal  in  the  hour  of  human 
grief. 

Sometimes  Elspeth  and  the  Dragon,  on  their 
usual  Saturday  afternoon's  visit  to  the  Garden 
of  Sleep,  went  in  by  the  gate,  opening  it  far 
enough  to  admit  them  and  closing  it  softly  behind 


42  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

them  again.  There  must  be  no  jarring  noises 
in  the  cemetery.  And  here,  let  me  add,  the 
Dragon  never  scolded  beyond  a  "Come  now,"  in 
quiet  accents  of  reproof. 

And  sometimes  they  went  in  by  another  gate, 
a  small  one,  and  paused  for  a  minute  by  the 
bowling-green  to  watch  the  gentlemen  playing 
bowls,  as  generations  of  bowlers  had  done  ever 
since  the  days  of  King  James,  and  probably  long 
before.  The  Game  of  Life  olayed  so  close  beside 
the  Game  of  Death. 

But  perhaps  oftener  still  they  went  up  a  quiet 
road  bordered  by  rocks  and  trees,  with  pleasant 
glimpses  of  picturesque  landscape  between,  and, 
opening  another  small  gate,  landed  at  once  in  an 
expanse  of  smooth  green  sward  peopled  by 
statutes  of  heroes.  Some  of  them  were  in  the 
attitude  of  preaching,  and  looked  wild,  denuncia- 
tory, as  if  warning  of  the  wrath  to  come  in 
forcible,  though  inaudible,  words.  Others  were 
mild  and  benign  in  aspect.  Some  had  rapt, 
upward  expressions,  as  if  they  were  holding 
communion  with  the  unseen.  Others  were 
very  humanly  sympathetic  in  their  appearance, 
smiling,  as  if  telling  of  the  Love  of  God  to  men. 
Many  of  them  were  martyrs  for  their  faith. 


WHERE  THE  RIVER  DIVIDES      43 

Some  carried  Bibles  in  their  hands,  emblems  of 
the  sacred  truths  for  which  they  had  laid  down 
their  lives. 

At  the  foot  of  one  of  the  statues  the  Dragon 
and  her  little  charge  always  paused  in  silence. 
The  Dragon  would  look  reverently  up  at  the 
sculptured  face,  and  her  thin  lips  would  move  in 
a  murmured  prayer,  for  this  was  a  martyred 
ancestor  of  her  very  own,  and  she  paused  here, 
as  if  to  attune  her  soul  to  the  spirit  of  the  place 
before  proceeding  any  farther.  It  was  not 
exactly  a  prayer,  of  course.  That  would  have 
savoured  of  Mariolatry.  Let  us  call  it,  rather, 
a  firm  resolve.  A  resolve  to  do  her  duty  in  that 
state  of  life  to  which  it  had  pleased  God  to  call 
her,  and  to  be  faithful,  till  death,  if  necessary. 
For  the  Dragon  was  a  woman  of  deeply  religious 
views,  and  the  spirit  of  the  Convenanters  was 
strong  within  her. 

Elspeth  had  no  martyrs  amongst  her  ances- 
tors, but  she  was  a  solitary  child  full  of  imagina- 
tion, and  at  the  gates  she  had  always  been  met  by 
Someone.  It  did  not  matter  which  gate  they  had 
gone  in  by.  Someone  always  seemed  to  know 
when  she  was  there.  It  was  the  spirit  of  her 
dead  mother.  To  the  lonely  child,  with  the  ache 


44  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

of  the  motherless  always  in  her  little  heart,  it 
seemed  as  if  her  mother  seemed  to  glide  beside  her 
and  hold  her  hand  in  a  gentle  clasp — the  mother's 
clasp.  There  is  no  other  like  it  in  the  world. 
The  hand  holding  hers  might  still  to  the  material 
eye  be  the  Dragon's  hand — hard,  knobby,  bony, 
encased  in  one-buttoned  black  kid  gloves  a  size 
too  large  for  her — but  it  was  not.  To  Elspeth  it 
was  soft,  white,  warm,  loving — her  mother's 
hand. 

The  Dragon  might  walk  along  beside  her  on 
tiptoe,  trying  to  keep  her  elastic-sided  boots  from 
sacrilegious  squeaking,  in  her  prim  black  bonnet 
with  its  broad  strings  tied  under  her  chin,  and 
jacket  with  linen  collar  pinned  invisibly  inside  it, 
but  Elspeth  never  saw  her.  So  far  as  she  was 
concerned  the  Dragon  might  have  been  left  outside 
the  gates  altogether.  It  was  a  radiantly  youthful 
figure  which  glided  by  her  side,  with  shining  cop- 
per-red curls  like  her  own,  only  longer,  and  a 
soft,  white,  flowing  robe  the  same  as  the  angel 
wore  in  one  of  the  beautiful  marble  monu- 
ments. 

She  would  seem  to  pause  with  Elspeth  beside 
the  statues,  and  speak  to  the  little  aching,  childish 
heart  something  like  this : 


WHERE  THE  RIVER  DIVIDES      45 

"My  child,  my  own  only  little  child,  for  whom 
I  gave  my  life,  I  want  you  to  grow  up  brave  and 
noble  like  those  heroes — those  men  who  died,  or 
lived,  for  their  faith.  It  is  harder  sometimes  to 
live  than  to  die." 

She  would  move  on  then  slowly,  till  they  came 
to  the  place  where  they  thought  she  slept  herself. 

Then  the  Dragon  would  take  a  trowel  out  of 
the  canvas  hand-bag  she  carried,  and  reverently 
dig  the  flower-border  round,  while  the  child  with 
the  mother-angel  stood  watching  her  hand  in 
hand. 

The  Dragon's  eyes  were  holden  so  that  she 
could  not  see,  but  she  was  always  very  gentle  on 
those  occasions.  Not  even,  when  forgetting 
sometimes  where  she  was,  Elspeth  skipped  over 
an  intervening  grave — for  her  mother  was  young 
and  let  her  do  it — would  her  voice  rise  higher 
than  a  shocked  "Oh!  Think  shame!" 

Then  Elspeth  would  "think  shame"  indeed, 
and  with  crimson  cheeks  and  tearful  eyes  would 
hang  her  head  low.  But  it  always  seemed  to  her 
as  if  her  mother  smiled  at  her,  and  even  laughed 
a  little  in  a  happy  girlish  way.  For,  after  all, 
there  was  nobody  underneath  those  graves. 
They  were  all  so  very  wide  awake — elsewhere. 


46  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

Then,  still  holding  her  mother's  hand,  they 
went  over  the  paths  and  round  the  graves  till 
they  came  to  Freddy's.  The  Dragon  would 
leave  Elspeth  there,  where  she  knew  she  liked  to 
play  quietly,  and  go  farther  on  by  herself  into 
the  older  part  of  the  cemetery  where  some  of  her 
own  people  slept.  There  she  often  met  friends, 
and  they  sat  and  gossiped  together  on  the  flat 
tombstones,  keeping  a  watchful  eye  on  Elspeth 
at  the  same  time. 

Freddy's  little  garden-bed  always  seemed  to 
lie  in  a  mist  of  blue.  Whether  they  had  been 
the  colour  of  his  eyes,  or  his  favourite  flower,  I 
do  not  know,  but  his  little  grave  seemed  always 
blue  with  forget-me-nots.  A  tiny  white  monu- 
ment rose  at  the  head,  so  small  it  was  little 
more  than  a  tablet.  On  it  was  inscribed  in  gold 
letters  the  words: — 

"LITTLE  FREDDY 

Aged  four." 
"  'Alas,  Master,  for  it  was  borrowed.' " 

That    quotation    was    a    great    mystery    to 
Elspeth.     She  knew,  of  course,  the  story  of  the 
prophet    and    the    borrowed    axe.     She    knew. 
Freddy's  father  and  mother,   and  brothers  and 
sisters,  very  well  indeed.     She  knew  also  a  little 


WHERE  THE  RIVER  DIVIDES      47 

vacant  high  chair,  where  she  sometimes  sat  when 
she  went  to  his  home  to  tea.  She  had  seen  his 
mother's  eyes  full  of  tears  as  she  looked  at  her 
sitting  in  it,  for  she  had  been  the  very  same  age 
as  Freddy,  and  their  mothers  had  been  close 
friends.  But  any  thought  of  the  beautiful  senti- 
ment evinced  in  that  text  was  far  from  her.  To 
her  it  was  literally  an  axe,  a  borrowed  axe  at 
that,  and  what  was  a  little  boy  like  Freddy  doing 
with  it? 

Once,  when  she  was  sitting  in  the  high  chair, 
she  ventured  to  ask  his  mother; 

"Did  your  little  Freddy  cut  himself  with  an 
axe?' 

But  the  mother  looked  so  unmistakably  dis- 
tressed, and  answered  in  such  a  broken  voice; 
"No,  darling,  God  took  him,"  that  she  could  ask 
no  more. 

Another  time  she  asked  the  Dragon,  changing 
the  form  of  the  question  and  giving  no  names. 

"Why  did  they  let  a  little  wee  boy  have  an 
axe?" 

And  the  Dragon  answered; 

"Axe?  They  never  do  let  little  wee  boys  have 
axes,  nor  little  girls  either.  What  do  they  want 
with  axes,  I  would  like  to  know!" 


So  the  mystery  remained.  That  was  the  be- 
ginning of  Elspeth's  talking  to  a  phantom  Freddy. 
She  sat  down  by  the  tiny  grave,  with  its  white 
railings,  and  its  mist  of  blue  forget-me-nots,  and 
in  a  low  tone  she  asked  questions. 

"Why  did  they  give  you  an  axe,  Freddy*?" 

"Why  was  it  borrowed1?  Hadn't  your  father 
got  one  of  his  own4?" 

"Did  you  steal  the  axe  and  kill  yourself  with 
it?" 

"Were  you  beheaded  like  Queen  Mary?" 

And  then  it  seemed  one  day  as  if  Freddy  came 
himself  and  answered;  "I  don't  know  anything 
about  axes,  and  I  don't  know  why  you  are  always 
asking  me.  But  I  like  forget-me-nots,  and  I  want 
to  play  with  you,  and  if  you'll  just  run  round  that 
grave  I'll  try  and  catch  you." 

So  after  that  he  seemed  to  play  with  her  every 
Saturday — at  least  she  thought  so.  And  her 
angel-mother  sat  on  a  grave  and  watched  them 
running  about.  She  would  rest  her  elbow  on 
her  knee  (as  the  angel  did  on  the  monument), 
and  her  wide  white  sleeve  would  fall  back  and 
show  her  softly  rounded  arm,  and  the  afternoon 
sun,  travelling  in  glory  towards  the  west,  would 


WHERE  THE  RIVER  DIVIDES      49 

light  upon  her  auburn  curls  till  they  shone  like 
burnished  copper. 

(They  always  called  her  mother's  hair  "au- 
burn" and  Elspeth's  unvarnished  "red,"  although 
they  were  exactly  the  same  shade,  an  injustice 
which  she  never  could  fathom.) 

The  hawk-like  eye  of  the  Dragon  would  fix 
Elspeth  now  and  again,  but  to  her  blinded 
senses  she  was  still  sitting  silently  by  the  white 
railings  and  she  saw  none  of  those  phantom  gam- 
bols. One  day  Elspeth  so  far  forgot  herself  as 
to  laugh  out  loud,  for  she  thought  she  had  caught 
Freddy  at  the  foot  of  John  Knox's  statue,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  even  the  grave  Reformer's  stern  face 
had  relaxed  its  expression.  But  the  Dragon 
turned  hastily  round  with  a  very  withering  one  on 
hers. 

Elspeth  could  have  told  Freddy's  mother. 
She  was  so  gentle  and  kind,  and  had  so  sweet  and 
motherly  an  air,  that  she  would  like  to  have 
slipped  her  hand  into  hers  and  said; 

"Do  you  know  I  play  with  your  Freddy  when 
I  go  to  the  cemetery  on  Saturday  afternoons'? 
He  wants  me  to  tell  you  that  the  forget-me-nots 
grow  by  the  river  where  he  lives.  They  are  very 


50  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

big  ones,  and  there  are  whole  fields  of  them  up  to 
his  knees.  But  he  knows  nothing  at  all  about 
axes,  and  neither  do  I.  That  isn't  a  nice  text  on 
his  grave." 

But  perhaps  even  Freddy's  gentle  mother  would 
have  said  she  was  dreaming.  So  blind  are 
grown-ups. 

Then  after  the  Dragon  and  her  friends  had 
gossiped  a  long  while,  they  would  saunter  slowly 
towards  her  and  say  it  was  time  to  go  home. 
They  were  mostly  married  friends  who  met  the 
Dragon  up  there,  sometimes  with  a  baby  or  two. 
But  when  she  took  Elspeth's  hand  to  lead  her 
home,  the  child  would  invariably  say  she  had  not 
been  yet  to  see  Jane,  and  with  her  cemetery- 
acquired  amiability  the  Dragon  would  reply; 

"Very  well,  then,  go  and  see  Jane's  grave,  and 
we  will  wait  for  you  here,  or  go  slowly  on." 

The  friend  of  the  day  would  probably  inquire, 
"Whatna,  Jane?"  and  the  tones  of  the  voices 
would  be  lowered  instantly. 

Elspeth  did  not  want  to  hear  what  they  said, 
for  they  all  spoke  about  Jane  in  the  same  tone  of 
shocked  awe,  and  to  her  Jane's  memory  was  sa- 
cred. So  she  walked  on  by  herself  to  where 
Jane's  lonely  grave  was. 


WHERE  THE  RIVER  DIVIDES      51 

It  was  right  in  an  angle  of  an  unfinished  wall 
all  by  itself.  A  rubbish-heap  was  on  one  side 
of  it,  dandelions  and  dock-leaves  and  other  rank 
weeds  grew  in  luxuriance  around  it.  It  was  just 
a  low  mound,  gradually  flattening  itself  to  the 
level  of  the  rubbish  on  each  side  of  it,  as  if  it  did 
not  matter  where  "Jane"  was  put.  No  mark  of 
any  kind  had  been  put  up  on  it,  but  Elspeth  could 
have  singled  out  that  spot  even  if  they  had  built 
the  wall  on  the  top  of  it.  No  one  passed  that 
way  except  workmen  with  barrows,  so  no  one 
heard  what  she  said  when  she  bent  down  low, 
and  laid  her  hand  lovingly  on  the  dockens  beside 
that  deserted  grave. 

"Dear  Jane,"  she  whispered  softly,  "I  love  youj 
and  I  shall  never  forget  you.  When  I  am  a 
woman  you  shall  have  lilies-of-the-valley  on  your 
grave,  and  if — if — you  have  really  gone  to  that 
— bad  place — that  they  say,  I  will  ask  my  mother 
if  she  will  go  and  see  you  sometimes.  Good-bye, 
dear  Jane." 

Then  she  would  walk  away  again,  and  go 
home,  lagging  as  far  as  possible  behind  the  Dragon 
and  her  friends,  whom  the  mere  mention  of  the 
name  of  Jane  had  sent  off  on  a  trail  of  gossip 
sufficient  to  last  them  all  the  afternoon. 


52  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

When  they  left  the  cemetery  gates  behind  Els- 
peth  always  looked  back  before  they  turned  the 
corner,  and  waved  her  hand  in  farewell.  And  it 
was  a  very  usual  thing  to  overhear  the  remark : 

"Wha's  she  wavin'  to1?     What  a  queer  bairn." 

"Oh,  just  some  of  her  fancies,"  the  Dragon 
would  answer. 

But  it  was  no  fancy  to  Elspeth.  For  her 
mother  was  at  the  gate  waving  to  her,  with  the 
light  shining  on  her  beautiful  hair  and  the  smile 
in  her  eyes.  And  surely  it  would  have  hurt  her 
if  her  child  had  not  waved  back. 


CHAPTER  V 

LADIES    OF    THE    KITCHEN 

ELSPETH  liked  them  best  by  far.  The  la- 
dies of  the  nursery  were  always  autocratic, 
and  thought  their  children  so  much  superior,  and 
the  babies  squalled  so  loudly.  The  noise  of  a 
well-filled  nursery  was  distracting  to  the  nervous, 
solitary  child. 

The  ladies  of  the  drawing-room  were  some- 
times very  sweet,  like  Freddy's  mother,  but  they 
were  apt  to  be  personal  and  make  one  feel  sadly 
old-fashioned  and  self-conscious. 

"Poor  little  lamb,"  one  would  say,  "why  does 
Janet  dress  her  like  that*?" 

And  another  would  say,  kindly  enough: 

"My  dear  child,  you  really  must  not  use  such 
old-fashioned  words.  You  said  this  was  a  'little 
conceit.'  There  isn't  such  a  thing  as  a  'little  con- 
ceit.' Unless  it  is  yourself,"  she  might  add  in  an 
undertone. 

One  house  in  particular,  the  home  of  a  large 
family,  was  quite  spoilt  for  her  because  she  al- 
ways had  to  spend  the  whole  day  there,  and  din- 

53 


54  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

ner  was  made  a  perfect  misery  over  the  little  mat- 
ter of  the  holding  of  a  spoon. 

"My  dear  little  girl,  can't  you  hold  that  spoon 
properly  yet?  I  have  told  you  so  many  times. 
I  really  must  speak  to  Janet  about  it.  She  is 
getting  you  into  quite  servants'  ways,  and  it 
would  so  vex  your  mother,  dear.  Ladies  never 
hold  their  spoons  like  that." 

They  always  said  "dear"  when  they  were  un- 
usually personal,  like  a  sweet  after  a  grey  powder. 
Even  the  joys  of  the  happy  nursery  in  that  house, 
where  a  pair  of  plump,  beautiful  twins,  who  sel- 
dom cried,  disported  themselves  together  every 
evening  in  a  long  coffin-shaped  bath,  hardly  con- 
soled her  for  the  miseries  endured  at  that  lady's 
dinner-table. 

Elspeth's  father,  a  young  and  rising  solicitor, 
was  hard  at  work  in  his  office  all  day.  Being 
withal  of  a  very  genial  and  social  nature,  with  a 
most  lovable  and  attractive  disposition  and  hand- 
some presence,  also — an  important  matter,  no 
doubt — a  distinctly  eligible  man,  was  much 
sought  after  in  the  provincial  society  of  the  town, 
and  was  seldom  at  home  in  the  evenings.  No 
doubt  the  word  "home"  only  spelt  the  desolation 
of  emptiness  for  him. 


LADIES  OF  THE  KITCHEN         55 

The  Dragon  also  sought  occasionally  to  relieve 
the  tedium  of  the  long  winter  evenings  by  visiting 
her  friends,  taking  her  charge  with  her,  and  re- 
ceiving visits  from  them  in  return. 

The  kitchen  ladies  were  mostly  of  her  own  class, 
respectable  upper  servants,  working  housekeepers 
to  single  ladies  or  gentlemen.  Sometimes  they 
had  servants  under  them,  and  then  Elspeth  and 
the  Dragon  sat  in  state  in  the  housekeeper's  room. 
But  that  was  not  much  fun  for  the  child.  She 
had  albums  of  faded  photographs  given  her  to 
look  at,  and  if  she  appeared  to  be  listening  to  the 
conversation  the  voices  immediately  dropped  into 
stage  whispers,  often  interspersed  with  spelt  words 
— a  great  insult  to  a  child,  one  of  the  incompre- 
hensible meannesses  of  a  certain  class  of  grown- 
ups, easily  seen  through  by  transparent  youthful 
souls. 

Once  Elspeth  overheard  the  Dragon  say  that 
she  did  not  consider  she  was  paid  high  enough 
wages,  so  she  promptly  asked  her  father  next 
morning,  in  the  Dragon's  presence,  if  he  could 
not  give  her  more.  She  meant  it  in  kindness, 
and  perhaps — just  a  little — to  curry  favour  with 
her  nurse.  But  anyhow  the  result  was  a  sad  dis- 


56  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

appointment.  Her  father's  step  had  hardly 
ceased  to  sound  on  the  pavement  as  he  walked 
off,  laughing,  to  his  office,  when  the  Dragon  led 
her  solemnly  down  the  kitchen  stairs,  and  in  the 
solitude  of  the  back  regions  introduced  her  to  the 
rod  of  correction.  And,  to  imprint  the  incident 
on  her  childish  memory  still  further,  she  was  made 
to  repeat,  without  a  mistake,  ten  times  in  succes- 
sion the  formula: 

"A  whip  for  the  horse,  a  bridle  for  the  ass,  and 
a  rod  for  the  fool's  back." 

She  was  sadly  mixed  between  saddles  and  bri- 
dles by  the  time  she  was  done,  and  did  not  know 
whether  the  text  applied  to  her,  personally,  as  a 
horse,  an  ass,  or  a  fool.  But  perhaps  she  was 
only  meant  to  act  as  a  bridle  round  the  neck  of  the 
Dragon. 

After  that  she  was  branded  as  untrustworthy, 
or,  to  use  the  Dragon's  own  expressive  word,  as 
a  "tale-pyet,"  and  the  whispering  and  spelling 
between  some  of  her  friends  and  herself  increased 
in  volume. 

There  was  a  mystery  attached  to  one  gentle- 
man's house  to  which  they  used  to  go,  and  some 
excitement  also.  In  that  housekeeper's  room 
they  always  sat  with  bated  breath,  and  talked  in 


LADIES  OF  THE  KITCHEN         57 

undertones,  for  fear  the  "master"  should  hear 
them. 

The  master,  as  was  understood  from  snatches 
of  whispered  conversation,  had  in  youth  experi- 
enced a  disappointment  and  had  become  a  con- 
firmed misogynist. 

"Jilted  in  love,"  whispered  the  Dragon;  "hates 
the  women  like  poison." 

All  visitors  to  his  establishment,  however,  male 
as  well  as  female,  were  strictly  forbidden.  Els- 
peth  and  the  Dragon  skulked  in  by  a  side  gate 
labelled  "Servants"  in  the  dusk,  walking  softly 
on  the  grass  beside  the  path,  slinking  under  the 
shadows  of  the  trees,  till  they  reached  a  side  en- 
try, where  the  stout  and  portly  housekeeper,  with 
her  finger  on  her  lip  to  enforce  silence,  always  ad- 
mitted them  with  her  own  fair  hand. 

The  master  was  an  old  man  now,  but  glimpses 
of  him  seen  through  the  chinks  of  closed  Venetian 
blinds  were  not  reassuring.  With  a  black  silk 
skull-cap  on  his  head,  and  his  hands  clasped  firmly 
behind  his  back,  he  paced  backwards  and  forwards 
on  a  paved  path  laid  down  for  him  on  the  lawn 
so  that  he  could  not  get  his  feet  damp,  under 
the  light  of  the  moon.  He  was  said  to  write 
books  on  learned  and  abstruse  subjects,  and  he 


58  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

could  often  be  heard  muttering  their  contents  to 
himself.  Altogether,  he  was  uncanny,  and  Els- 
peth  sat  very  still  on  a  little  stool  behind  the  door 
in  that  housekeeper's  room,  listening  in  dread  for  a 
shuffling  step  coming  along  the  passage. 

There  were  compensations,  however,  in  the  way 
of  kittens,  and  she  was  sitting  one  evening  with 
four  very  new  blind  ones  tucked  beneath  a  little 
tartan  shawl  pinned  round  her  (for  there  were 
draughts  behind  the  door),  when,  after  having 
had  many  false  alarms,  she  really  did  hear  the 
shuffling  step  close  by.  The  hostess  and  the 
Dragon  had  their  heads  close  together  talking 
across  a  small  table,  when  the  door  opened  sud- 
denly, and  there  stood  the  master ! 

He  was  not  so  fearsome  close  at  hand.  His 
eyes  were  small,  and  black,  and  twinkling  under 
his  beetling  brows,  but  they  were  mild  and  even 
kind  in  expression.  The  servants  both  stood  up 
hastily  in  evident  fear  and  trembling,  however. 
Elspeth  also  stood  up,  dropping  kittens  in  every 
direction,  and  made  a  little  old-fashioned  curtsey, 
as  the  Dragon  had  taught  her  to  do  to  her  su- 
periors. 

"Who  is  this?"  said  the  master,  and  his  tones 
were  very  stern. 


LADIES  OF  THE  KITCHEN         59 

The  housekeeper  hurriedly  explained. 

"Oh,  sir,  this  is  Mr.  Hugh  Arnot's  Janet,  and 
his  little  girl.  YOU  know  Mr.  Hugh  Arnot,  sir, 
and  young  Mrs.  Hugh,  you  remember." 

The  master  looked  at  the  child  with  a  kindly 
smile. 

"I  remember,"  he  said  gently.  "So  this  is 
the  motherless  babe.  Come  with  me,  my  dear. 
I  have  apples  in  my  study,  and  dates,"  and  he 
held  out  his  hand. 

Janet  hurriedly  dashed  forward  to  unpin  the 
tartan  shawl  and  give  a  hasty  stroke  to  the  child's 
untidy  head.  But  the  master  ignored  her.  She 
had  broken  his  rules.  So  had  Elspeth,  but  he 
evidently  did  not  blame  her. 

There  was  nothing  terrible  about  the  master 
in  his  study.  He  was  gentleness  itself.  His 
kindly  eyes  beamed  as  he  planted  her  on  a  hassock 
by  the  fire,  and  peeled  an  apple  for  her  with  a 
dainty  silver  knife  and  fork.  He  asked  her  many 
questions  about  her  father  and  grandfather,  and 
the  shyness  fell  away  from  her  lonely  little  soul 
like  a  mask.  Then  he  asked  a  direct  personal 
question. 

"And  is  your  nurse  kind  to  you*?"  he  asked, 
and  with  quick  eye  noticed  the  hesitation  in  the 


60  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

affirmative  reply.  When  at  last  the  apples  and 
dates  were  finished  he  told  her  it  was  time  to 
go  home,  and,  as  she  rose  demurely,  he  rested 
his  wrinkled  hand  a  moment  on  her  curls  and  gave 
her  his  benediction. 

"May  the  Lord  bless  you  and  keep  you,  little 
one.  Remember,  the  God  of  the  fatherless  is  also 
the  God  of  the  motherless." 

And  the  child  went  away  feeling  solemnised, 
as  if  she  had  been  at  church.  The  master  had 
been  so  much  nicer  than  the  minister,  who  always 
asked  her  questions  out  of  the  Catechism  with 
some  sternness,  and  that,  together  with  the  Drag- 
on's angry  eye  fixed  on  her,  made  her  completely 
forget  the  answers,  although  she  knew  them  quite 
well.  She  never  saw  the  master  nor  his  house- 
keeper again,  for  he  died  soon  after. 

But  of  all  the  ladies  of  the  kitchen,  Jane  Kidd 
was  the  flower,  a  perfect  Princess  Royal  amongst 
housekeepers.  She  lived  in  the  large  house  which 
faced  down  the  square  where  Elspeth  lived.  It 
was  a  bright,  sunny,  square-built  house  and  had 
echoed  to  the  sound  of  merry  young  voices  in  its 
day.  Now  it  was  silent,  and  stood  pathetically 
in  its  loneliness  and  detachedness.  The  sons  of 
the  house  had  all  been  military.  Now  it  might 


LADIES  OF  THE  KITCHEN         61 

almost  have  been  called  a  relic  of  the  Crimea  and 
the  Indian  Mutiny.  There  were  many  such  deso- 
lated homes  in  Scotland  in  those  days. 

Old  Major  Kidd  walked  in  and  out  for  many 
a  day  afterwards,  his  military  stride  unchanged 
— the  cavalry  stride,  with  feet  well  apart  to  keep 
the  spurs  which  were  no  longer  there  from  en- 
tanglement— but  with  bent  shoulders,  and 
broken  heart,  after  the  awful  news  came  from 
India. 

Miss  Margaret,  his  only  surviving  child,  lay 
always  in  a  quiet  back  bedroom,  overlooking  the 
garden,  after  the  fall  of  Sebastopol,  paralysed 
through  shock,  with  all  her  fair  hopes  shattered  in 
her  gentle  breast.  When  the  guns  were  firing, 
and  bonfires  were  blazing  all  over  the  country  over 
the  news  of  victory,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  Cri- 
mean War,  Miss  Margaret  had  been  sobbing  her 
heart  out  in  the  kitchen,  with  her  head  resting  on 
her  faithful  servant's  shoulder. 

But  bad  as  the  Russian  news  was  it  had  been 
easier  to  bear  than  the  other.  Of  the  Indian 
massacre,  father  and  daughter  never  spoke.  It 
was  known  throughout  the  town  that  the  gallant 
Captain,  the  Major's  last,  and  youngest,  son  had 
been  blown  from  native  guns,  and  the  angel  over 


62  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

the  well  of  Cawnpore  watches  to  this  day  over  his 
young  wife  and  her  little  ones. 

The  aged  Major  gradually  grew  frailer.  His 
military  stride  became  more  shuffling.  He 
dragged  his  feet  instead  of  a  sword,  and  his  face 
remained  grim  and  set  until  the  day  when  he  fell 
calmly  asleep  in  his  easy-chair,  never  to  wake  on 
earth  again. 

It  was  in  the  years  after  his  death  that  Elspeth 
and  the  Dragon  visited  Jane  in  the  kitchen.  The 
family  then  consisted  only  of  the  two  solitary 
women,  a  one-legged  soldier,  Jeremiah  Kidd  (all 
were  called  by  the  name  of  the  lady  of  the  house 
in  Elspeth' s  mind)  who  looked  after  the  garden 
and  could  tell  endless  tales  of  the  Crimean  War 
and  of  Scutari,  where  he  had  been  nursed  back  to 
life  by  the  Lady  of  the  Lamp  and  her  devoted 
band  of  Sisters.  It  was  known  that  he  had  been 
Captain  Moore's  (Miss  Margaret's  lover's)  body- 
servant,  and  that  it  was  he  who  had  brought  home 
that  gallant  officer's  sword,  which  hung  always  on 
the  wall  opposite  her  bed. 

There  was  also  Garibaldi  Kidd,  a  huge,  fero- 
cious-looking mastiff,  who  lived  in  a  kennel  out- 
side and  protected  the  family.  It  was  a  military 
household  altogether. 


LADIES  OF  THE  KITCHEN         63 

Jane  was  a  plump,  sunny-faced,  brown-eyed 
woman  in  her  prime.  She  had  high  spirits  and 
was  no  respecter  of  persons,  for  she  slapped  the 
Dragon  heartily  on  the  shoulder,  and  danced 
round  her  with  a  merry  "Slap,  bang !  Here  we  are 
again,"  for  a  greeting,  when  she  saw  her  two  prim 
visitors  demurely  coming  round  to  the  back  en- 
trance on  alternate  Wednesday  evenings,  and  ran 
out  to  meet  them.  The  Dragon,  mind  you! 
But  even  she  laughed  and  said,  "Ye  daft  lassie," 
and  looked  as  if  she  rather  enjoyed  it.  Every- 
body knew  Jane's  merry,  happy  ways. 

The  next  performance  was  to  produce  samples 
of  her  skill  from  the  oven  for  their  refreshment. 
Such  dainty  turn-overs,  with  the  apples  simmer- 
ing and  hissing  in  their  own  juice,  asking  to  be 
eaten!  Such  delicate  little  plum  cakes!  Such 
triumphs  of  culinary  art  in  the  way  of  puff- 
pastry  heroes,  with  military  coats  and  buttons, 
and  currant  eyes,  and  strips  of  lemon-peel  for 
swords!  To  be  nibbled — nay,  mutilated — 
daintily,  cannibal  fashion. 

After  the  favoured  visitors'  appetites  had  thus 
been  gently  tickled,  and  the  Dragon  had  disbursed 
herself  of  the  most  important  items  of  her  fort- 
nightly budget  of  news,  the  fun  began. 


64  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

"You  just  spoil  her,"  said  the  Dragon  on  every 
occasion.  "She  can  play  by  herself  quite  well. 
She  has  to  play  at  home.  I  never  play  with  her. 
Give  her  your  work-basket,  and  she'll  sit  still  and 
make  up  stories  with  the  bobbins  and  be  quite 
happy." 

But  Jane's  answer  was  always  the  same. 

"No,"  she  said,  with  decision,  "poor  bairn. 
While  she's  here  in  my  kitchen  she  shall  have 
her  fun.  Miss  Margaret  likes  to  hear  her  laugh." 

So  then  the  fun  began,  and  Jane's  versatile 
genius  shone.  I  have  already  said  she  was  a 
Princess  Royal  amongst  kitchen  ladies.  Voices 
rose  from  different  parts  of  the  basement,  mys- 
terious, shrill,  sibilant,  gruff,  for  Jane  was  a  born 
ventriloquist  of  no  mean  order.  The  deep  growl- 
ing voice  of  Angus  McNab,  the  big,  fat  town  bell- 
man, called  down  the  chimney  in  imperative 
tones. 

"I  want  that  little  girl  you've  got  there  with 
you.  She's  good  for  eating,  she  is,  with  those 
cheeks  like  ripe  apples,  and  those  rosy  lips." 

Then  there  were  loud  shrieks,  and  Jane's  indig- 
nant voice  replying: 

"Indeed,  then,  and  you  won't  have  her." 

And  they  raced  away  together,  tumbling  over 


LADIES  OF  THE  KITCHEN         65 

each  other  in  their  haste  to  escape  from  the  greedy 
bell-man. 

Willie  Windy  whistled  in  his  blustery  fashion 
through  the  keyhole  of  the  back  door. 

"Where's  my  little  wine?  the  little  girl  with 
the  auburn  curls'?"  (Ah,  Jane,  Jane!  You 
knew  the  weakness  and  pandered  to  juvenile  van- 
ity.) "I  want  to  carry  her  off  to  the  back  of 
the  North  Wind.  He's  my  brother.  It  is  cold 
there  without  a  wife." 

"You  are  the  North  Wind  yourself,  aren't 
you?"  Jane  would  question. 

And  the  Wind  would  whistle  angrily. 

"Who  says  I  am  the  North  Wind?  How  dare 
you?  I'm  not.  I  blow  from  the  south,  where 
the  oranges " 

"You!  Oranges!"  Jane  would  retort,  "with 
the  snow  coming  slithering  through  the  keyhole 
while  you  speak.  You  shall  not  have  my  wee 
lassie  for  a  wife." 

Then  the  Wind  would  go  "Whew "  along 

the  stone  passages,  and  become  so  boisterous  that 
once  or  twice  Miss  Margaret's  bell  rang  to  know 
if  there  was  a  hurricane  downstairs. 

Sometimes  she  would  send  down  for  the 
Dragon  and  Elspeth  to  go  and  see  her,  and  then 


66  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

the  child  would  sit  very  still  on  the  bed  watch- 
ing the  bright-faced  lady  who  was  bed-ridden 
with  great  interest,  but  returning  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble to  the  entertainment  below  stairs. 

Jane  could  dance  the  Highland  Fling  well. 
Kilting  up  her  skirts  would  do  the  sword-dance 
with  great  neatness  and  dexterity,  and  her  twin- 
kling, well-shod  feet  would  jink  in  and  out  be- 
tween the  broomsticks,  which  took  the  place  of 
swords,  like  the  best  Highlander  of  them  all. 
So  well  would  she  dance,  leaving  no  little  turn,  or 
swirl  of  skirt,  undone,  that  even  the  grave  Drag- 
on's expression  would  relax,  and,  forgetting  the 
Covenanters  and  her  ancestors,  she  would  clap 
her  hands  at  sight  of  the  dances  of  her  native  land 
so  well  done,  and  remark  dryly: 

"You  would  take  the  prize  for  dancing  at  the 
Highland  Games,  Jean.  You  just  need  a  kilt." 

Then  there  were  scones  and  fresh  butter  for 
supper,  and  milk  with  thick  cream  on  the  top  of 
it,  and  the  visitors  would  depart  well-pleased 
with  their  evening's  entertainment.  Even  the 
Dragon  was  amiable  for  a  day  or  two  afterwards. 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  one  of  those  red- 
letter  alternate  Wednesdays  (the  others  were 
black,  being  reserved  for  the  administration  of 


LADIES  OF  THE  KITCHEN         67 

castor  oil  and  whippings)  that  Auntie  Rosie,  the 
charwoman,  came  running,  at  full  speed  down 
the  square  for  the  Dragon.  And  she,  without 
stopping  to  take  off  her  morning-cap,  ran  off  with 
her  without  a  single  word  of  explanation,  leaving 
Elspeth  with  her  face  pressed  against  the  dining- 
room  window-pane  vainly  trying  to  see  what  was 
the  matter. 

It  was  a  very  quiet  square  in  the  residential 
part  of  the  town,  inhabited  chiefly  by  profes- 
sional men,  and  there  was  no  traffic  to  speak  of. 
Elspeth  waited  patiently  by  the  window.  The 
minutes  passed  into  the  half -hour,  which  struck, 
then  the  hour,  and  still  no  Dragon. 

Then  a  quick  firm  step  came  round  the  corner. 
There  was  a  cry  of  delight,  and  the  lonely  child 
was  half-way  down  the  front  steps,  and  in  her 
father's  arms,  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  write 
it.  Breathlessly  she  told  him  of  Janet's  sudden 
and  long  disappearance,  the  words  tumbling  over 
each  other  in  her  haste.  Then  her  father  said ; 

"Well,  I'm  going  out  into  the  country  at  twelve 
o'clock.  The  gig  is  coming  for  me.  I  want  some 
sandwiches  to  take  with  me,  so  we'll  have  to 
make  them  ourselves  as  best  we  can.  Something 
has  happened  up  the  square,  evidently.  Come 


68  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

along  down  to  the  pantry  with  me  and  see  if  you 
can  help." 

Together  they  rummaged  in  the  pantry,  and 
clumsily  constructed  sandwiches  were  wrapped  in 
paper  before  the  gig  drove  up  to  the  door.  At 
the  same  moment  the  Dragon  returned.  Her  eyes 
were  red  with  weeping. 

"Oh,  sir,  I  am  very  sorry,"  she  said,  "for  run- 
ning off  like  that,  but  Jane  found  Miss  Margaret 
dead  in  her  bed  this  morning  and  they  sent  down 
for  me.  No  one  can  do  anything  with  Jane,  she 
is  like  a  mad  creature,  and  they  are  afraid 
she'll " 

Here  the  rest  of  the  conversation  was  con- 
tinued in  an  undertone. 

"Well,"  said  Elspeth's  father  aloud  at  last. 
"I'll  take  the  child  with  me,  and  you  can  go  up 
and  stay  with  Jane  to-day.  I  shall  not  be  home 
till  the  evening.  Run,  dearie,  and  get  on  your 
coat  and  hat — quickly,  for  I  am  late." 

So  perched  up  beside  her  father  in  the  high 
gig,  muffled  up  in  her  mother's  furs,  Elspeth 
drove  off  with  her  father  in  style,  and  they  were 
soon  bowling  along  the  fast-bound  roads  into  the 
country. 

From  that  day  Jane  disappeared. 


LADIES  OF  THE  KITCHEN         69 

The  shrouded  house  at  the  top  of  the  square 
bore  the  usual  evidences  of  bereavement,  and  in 
due  time  Miss  Margaret's  funeral  wended  its  way 
to  the  cemetery,  amidst  every  token  of  respect  and 
sorrow  on  the  part  of  her  neighbours  and  friends. 

But  of  Jane,  with  the  merry  heart  and  the 
snod,  dancing  feet,  there  was  never  more  any 
sign.  She  had  vanished  out  of  the  life  of  the 
square  as  completely  as  if  she  had  never  been. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    SECRET    OF    THE    WATERS 

AUNTIE  ROSIE  was  a  useful  and  homely 
personage,  who  went  out  to  her  daily  la- 
bour of  washing  and  charing  in  the  early  morn- 
ing, and  returned  in  the  evening  to  her  humble 
little  home  on  the  banks  of  the  river.  Past  the 
windows  of  her  cottage  the  great  river  rushed  on 
its  way  to  the  sea,  swirling,  black,  deep,  gaining 
in  ever-increasing  velocity  as  it  narrowed  to  force 
itself  under  the  wide  arches  of  the  railway-bridge, 
which  spanned  it  here.  It  was  not  the  smoothly 
flowing  silver  stream  that  it  was  a  mile  or  two 
higher  up.  Since  then  it  had  gathered  three  trib- 
utaries on  its  broad  bosom,  and  together  they  were 
all  racing  to  the  sea.  Down  at  Auntie  Rosie's 
the  river  was  fascinating  by  reason  of  being  terri- 
ble, especially  to  Elspeth,  on  those  rare  visits  to 
the  cottage  which  she  paid  when  the  Dragon 
wished  to  engage  its  occupant  for  extra  work. 
She  could  have  stood  for  hours,  had  she  been  per- 
mitted, watching  the  black,  angry,  seething  vol- 

70 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  WATERS     71 

umes  of  water,  the  swirling  eddies,  and  the 
creamy  froth  round  the  arches  of  the  bridge. 
But  the  Dragon  generally  pounced  on  her  and 
dragged  her  away. 

"It  will  draw  you  in,"  said  the  Dragon.  That 
is  what  fascinating  things  do,  it  seems. 

Auntie  Rosie  herself  was  a  fat,  jolly-looking 
woman  given  to  much  talk  and  laughter.  Her 
laugh  was  fat  and  gurgling.  Folds  of  super- 
fluous flesh  shook  in  all  directions  with  suppressed 
merriment  whenever  she  laughed.  Her  life  was 
sad,  but  to  look  at  her  you  would  have  thought 
this  game  of  daily  washing  and  charing,  with  a 
lazy,  drunken  husband  who  drank  all  her  earn- 
ings, was  the  best  joke  going.  She  was  rather 
deaf,  and,  like  most  deaf  people,  was  given  to 
talking  in  a  very  loud  voice.  She  never  needed 
to  wait  for  an  answer,  for  if  one  were  not  forth- 
coming she  immediately  supplied  the  deficiency 
herself.  The  strange  thing  about  her  was  that 
she  seemed  to  be  everybody's  aunt.  Indeed  it  was 
probable  she  was  Elspeth's  as  well  as  the  rest, 
for  when  she  went  to  the  house  in  the  square 
every  fortnight  she  always  greeted  the  child 
thus: 

"And  how  is  the  little  Missy  to-day?" 


72  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

And  Elspeth  replied  gravely,  as  she  had  been 
taught ; 

"I  am  quite  well,  I  thank  you,  Auntie  Rosie." 

And  no  one  had  ever  checked  her  for  doing  so. 

It  was  from  Auntie  Rosie's  conversation,  ad- 
dressed to  the  Dragon,  that  Elspeth  gathered  her 
first  clue  to  the  mystery  of  Jane's  disappearance. 

It  was  on  the  Tuesday  following  Miss  Mar- 
garet's death.  Auntie  Rosie  was  established  in 
the  little  wash-house  in  the  yard  at  the  back  of 
Elspeth's  home,  in  an  atmosphere  of  steam  and 
soap-suds,  from  whence  her  rubicund  countenance, 
rising  like  the  full  moon  through  a  mist,  beamed 
on  all  the  trades  people  who  came  to  the  back 
door,  while  at  the  same  time  she  carried  on  a 
desultory  conversation  with  the  Dragon  during  her 
intermittent  visits  to  the  kitchen. 

The  Dragon  had  asked  some  question,  which 
Elspeth,  hovering  about  the  back,  did  not  hear, 
but  she  heard  the  answer. 

"No,"  Auntie  Rosie  replied,  "no  a  sign  o't,  and 
been  in  the  watter  since  last  Thursday.  It  was 
me  that  saw  the  shawl  and  bunnet,  ye  ken,  lyin' 
by  the  side  o'  the  watter. 

"  'Rin,  rin,'  sez  I  tae  Tam,  'there's  somebody 
fa' in  in.' 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  WATERS     73 

"Til  rin  nane,'  sez  Tarn;  'ye' re  daft,  ye  can 
gang  yersel'.  I'm  no'  gaun  tae  be  mixed  up  wi' 
the  poliss.' 

"So  I  gaed  mysel',  and  there  was  the  fine  new 
black  m'urnin'  shawl  and  bunnet,  but  no'  a  buddy 
was  tae  be  seen.  Hech !  little  did  I  think  it  was 
Jean.  Bonnie  Jeanie,  we  aye  ca'ed  her.  My! 
but  she  could  dance.  I  saw  the  Hielanders  dan- 
cin'  aince  at  the  Hieland  Games,  but  they  didna 
dance  ony  better  than  Jean — no  near  sae  weel, 
I'm  thinkin'." 

And  then  the  Dragon's  eyes  fell  on  Elspeth, 
listening  with  round  eyes  and  mouth  wide  open, 
and  she  was  told  to  run  away  and  play  directly. 
But  she  had  heard,  and  when  they  went  up  to 
the  cemetery  on  the  following  Saturday,  she  asked 
the  Dragon  point-blank; 

"Is  Jane  dead?"  and  was  answered,  "Yes," 
with  a  sharp  snap  of  the  lips. 

Elspeth's   throat  was  parched   and   her  voice 
choking,  as  she  whispered  her  next  request. 
"I  want  to  see  her  grave,  please." 
But  the  Dragon  replied  more  sharply  still : 
"She  has  no  grave.     She  is  not  buried." 
No    grave!     Not    buried!     What    did    that 
mean1?     She  dared  not  ask  any  more,  but  in  se- 


74  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

cret  she  wept  bitterly  for  Jane,  her  true  friend, 
the  gay  Princess  of  the  Dance. 

As  it  was  Auntie  Rosie  who  supplied  the  first 
clue  to  Jane's  disappearance,  so  some  weeks  later 
it  was  she  who  supplemented  it. 

There  was  mystery  in  the  air  that  morning. 
Elspeth  was  sent  upstairs  to  play,  and  told  to 
shut  the  door  at  the  top  of  the  landing,  as  usual 
when  Auntie  Rosie  was  there,  for,  as  I  have  said, 
she  was  deaf  and  her  voice  penetrated  far. 

And  here  let  me  digress  for  a  moment  to  say 
that  to  play  alone  was  no  hardship  to  Elspeth, 
and  the  meaning  of  the  word  "loneliness,"  as  we 
understand  it,  she  did  not  know,  at  least  so  far  as 
play  was  concerned.  With  the  whole  house  to 
wander  over  and  fresh  fields  for  imagination  in 
every  room,  she  needed  no  companionship,  even 
dolls  were  often  quite  superfluous.  So,  when  she 
was  shut  out  from  the  kitchen  and  its  denizens, 
she  was  wont  to  wander  into  the  drawing-room 
and  people  it  with  creations  of  her  own. 

It  was  a  large  pleasant  room  with  three  win- 
dows in  it,  and  the  Dragon  kept  it  spotlessly 
neat.  With  the  sentiment  of  her  race  she  left 
everything  untouched,  as  it  had  been  during  the 
young  wife's  short  reign  in  her  kingdom.  Music 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  WATERS     75 

still  lay  piled  on  the  piano,  wedding-presents — 
ornaments  and  paintings  for  the  most  part — deco- 
rated the  room.  By  the  large  chintz-covered 
sofa  stood  a  rosewood  work-table,  just  as  its 
owner  had  left  it  that  night  when  she  left  the 
room  never  to  return. 

It  was  the  child's  custom  to  sit  down  on  the 
sofa  and  receive  imaginary  visitors.  After  some 
conventional  conversation  with  them  to  begin 
with,  she  would  open  the  work-table,  and,  taking 
out  the  piece  of  work  left  lying  within  it,  would 
put  on  the  small  gold  thimble  and  pretend  to 
sew.  It  was  an  exquisite  piece  of  needlework — 
the  unfinished  top  of  a  little  baby's  frock — and 
the  needle  and  cotton  were  still  left  in  it.  As  she 
sewed — or  rather,  pretended  to — she  took  her  vis- 
itors into  her  confidence. 

"Yes,"  she  would  say,  "this  is  for  my  own 
little  baby  who  is  coming  to  me  soon.  I  have 
finished  the  christening  robe  and  the  plainer 
frocks,  this  is  only  for  second  best." 
;  "How  do  I  know  I  have  a  little  baby  coming 
to  me?  Why,  the  angels  whispered  it  to  me. 
Do  you  know  how  wee  babies  are  made?  I  do. 
God  just  takes  a  pinch  of  dust  and  blows  on  it, 
and  it  comes  down  to  earth  like  that.  They  are 


76  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

just  made  of  dust  and  God's  breath.  It  is  not 
true  that  they  are  found  in  cabbages.  I  have 
looked  for  them  often  in  the  Laird's  garden  and 
there  were  none  there.  There  were  only  caterpil- 
lars, and  they  turn  into  butterflies,  so  they  couldn't 
be  babies. 

"No,  I  don't  want  a  little  boy.  I  want  a  little 
girl  that  I  can  teach  to  sew  little  wee  stitches  like 
these.  And  I  want  her  to  have  auburn  curls,  and 
they  may  be  carroty  if  they  like,  but  never,  never 
shall  people  dare  to  call  them  red  while  I  am 
there.  I'll  stick  up  for  her,  poor  wee  thing. 

"Yes,  perhaps  the  little  baby  may  come  to- 
night. I  don't  know  when  'zactly,  the  angels 
didn't  say,  they  like  to  surprise  people.  But  I 
have  got  the  basket  all  ready  for  it — such  a  funny 
one.  Why  do  babies  need  such  funny  baskets,  I 
wonder*?  It  is  in  the  next  room.  Would  you 
like  to  come  and  see  it1?" 

Then  they  would  walk,  the  phantom-guests  and 
the  solitary  child,  into  the  spare-room.  A  sad 
and  shrouded  room,  with  the  mystery  of  life  be- 
stowed, and  life  taken  away,  hanging  about  it  al- 
ways. And  in  the  wardrobe,  she  would  show 
these  invisible  ones  the  baby's  basket  with  its  soft 
muslin  coverings,  carefully  washed  and  ironed  by 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  WATERS     77 

the  methodical  Dragon  every  year.  And  she 
would  open  the  bottom  drawer. 

Ah,  that  bottom  drawer ! 

There  lay,  under  folds  of  silk  paper,  a  girlish 
wedding-gown  of  white  silk,  a  veil  of  tulle,  a 
chaplet  of  orange-blossoms,  a  dainty  lace  hand- 
kerchief, and  a  pair  of  satin  shoes,  hardly  pressed 
by  the  slim  feet  on  that  one  time  of  bridal  wear- 
ing. While  beside  them  all  lay  the  baby's  chris- 
tening robe — that  dearly  bought  little  baby — a 
vision  of  purity  and  exquisite  embroidery. 

I  do  not  think  any  morbid  feelings  ever  came 
over  Elspeth  as  she  gazed  in  that  drawer,  as  she 
often  did,  smoothing  the  silken  frock  with  her 
fingers,  replacing  the  silk  paper  again,  and  closing 
it  very  softly,  as  the  Dragon  closed  the  gates  in 
the  cemetery.  Her  mother's  spirit  was  always  so 
very  near  her,  hovering,  watching,  a  guardian 
angel  over  her  little  child. 

Very  beautifully  and  touchingly,  out  of  his 
own  great  love  for  his  mother,  does  Mr.  Barrie 
picture  the  spirit  of  the  mother,  dying  at  the 
birth  of  her  child,  coming  in  the  night  to  look 
in  the  drawers  at  her  little  one's  under-garments 
to  see  if  it  had  warm  enough  clothing  to  wear. 

But  Elspeth's  mother  did  much  more  for  her 


78  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

than  that.  She  lived  ever  beside  her.  The 
whole  house  seemed  full  of  her.  Something  of 
hers  was  still  lying  in  every  room,  her  music, 
her  work,  her  paintings,  as  if  she  had  only  gone 
out  of  sight  for  a  very  little  while  into  some  other 
room,  and  had  left  the  door  unlatched  for  her 
loved  ones  to  follow. 

When  Elspeth  was  naughty  and  pranced  in 
tempers  over  the  Dragon's  whippings,  the  sight 
of  a  patch  of  blue  sky  would  quiet  her  directly. 
They  were  her  mother's  eyes  (which  had  been 
blue)  looking  down  at  her  naughty  little  girl, 
and  heart-broken  sobs  and  tears  would  follow. 
The  terror  of  her  childhood  was  that  when  she 
reached  Heaven  she  would  be  found  to  be  one 
of  those  foolish  virgins  who  had  no  oil  in  their 
lamps,  and  that  the  gates  would  be  shut  in  her 
face  and  the  terrible  words  "Too  late,  too  late," 
be  pronounced  against  her  for  her  childish  mis- 
deeds. 

When  she  had  gently  closed  the  bottom  drawer 
Elspeth  would  return  again  to  the  drawing-room, 
and,  as  she  had  been  told  her  mother  had  done  on 
the  last  evening  she  had  spent  in  that  room,  offer 
to  sing  to  her  visitors. 

"Shall  it  be  The  Blue  Bells  of  Scotland'?"  she 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  WATERS     79 

would  ask  politely,  and  on  apparently  receiving 
an  answer  in  the  affirmative  she  would  sing,  sit- 
ting at  the  piano. 

The  Dragon  might,  at  the  sound  of  the  sing- 
ing wafted  below-stairs,  come  up  with  a  sharp 
material  question. 

"Have  you  got  a  newspaper  on  the  piano  now 
not  to  mark  the  polish  with  your  fingers'?" 

Yes,  there  would  be  a  newspaper  carefully 
spread  over  the  closed  piano,  for  it  was  always 
kept  locked.  The  piano  was  a  sacred  instrument. 
Elspeth  would  not  be  likely  to  forget  to  protect 
it  with  a  newspaper.  The  Dragon  would  then  go 
away  downstairs  again  and  leave  the  child  to 
her  songs,  and  a  bird-like  little  treble  voice  would 
warble  through  the  silent  house,  singing  about 
blue-bells  or  a  hundred  pipers. 

But  the  games  were  not  always  those  of  senti- 
ment and  imagination.  Often  they  were  very 
noisy,  even  martial  in  type,  as  when  volleys  of 
musketry  were  fired  (a  thick  mahogany  ruler  rat- 
tling down  the  bannisters),  or  when,  in  the  box- 
room,  a  mask  and  foil  belonging  to  her  father 
did  good  execution  against  the  unseen  foes. 

On  the  day  when  Elspeth  heard  the  solution 
of  the  mystery  of  Jane's  disappearance,  she  was  sit- 


80  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

ting  in  her  father's  dressing-room — in  his  bath, 
to  be  exact.  The  handle  of  the  shower  was  in 
her  hand,  the  chintz  curtains  lined  with  water- 
proof were  closely  drawn  around  her.  It  was  a 
realistic  performance,  which  had  already  on  two 
separate  occasions  gone  too  far,  for  by  accident 
she  had  pulled  the  shower  down  and  had  been 
drenched  from  head  to  foot,  in  her  clothes,  the 
cold  water  and  the  Dragon's  wrath  deluging  her 
simultaneously.  But  it  was  all  the  more  fascin- 
ating on  that  account.  She  was  sitting  now  in 
the  empty  bath,  imagining  the  shock  and  shudder 
of  the  cold  water  coming  down  on  her  head, 
when  she  was  arrested  by  the  sound  of  Auntie 
Rosie's  loud  voice,  floating  through  the  open  win- 
dow from  the  yard  at  the  back,  in  conversation 
with  the  Dragon  in  the  kitchen. 

"The  corp'  was  an  awfu'  sicht,"  shouted  Auntie 
Rosie  cheerfully,  her  tones  somewhat  muffled  by 
the  corner  of  a  sheet,  which  she  held  in  her  strong 
teeth,  while  she  dexterously  swished  it  round  her 
tub  preparatory  to  wringing  it.  "Losh !  if  I  was 
gaun  tae  tak'  my  life  I  wadna  droon  mysel'.  A 
buddy  looks  awfu'." 

Auntie  Rosie  laughed  her  fat  laugh.  "Hech 
— hech — hech !"  and  every  fold  and  crease  of  su- 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  WATERS     81 

perfluous  flesh  crinkled  with  laughter.  Not  that 
she  was  unfeeling.  It  was  only  her  way  of  ex- 
pressing her  emotion.  Where  tears  take  one, 
laughter  takes  another. 

"What  wonder,  after  a  month*?"  said  the 
Dragon  quietly,  from  the  kitchen. 

"Ay,  what  wonder?  They  wad  niver  hae  got 
her  if  she  hadna  stuck  on  ane  o'  the  piers  o'  the 
auld  brig.  She  had  tied  muckle  stanes  roond  her 
goun  tae  keep  herseP  doun.  They  saw  her  at  low 
watter.  The  river's  extra  dry  this  week.  They 
say  there's  a  neap  tide,  though  what  the  watter 
has  to  dae  wi'  neeps  at  this  time  o'  the  year  I 
dinna  ken.  They're  a'  howkit  up  in  the  gairdens 
lang  syne." 

The  Dragon  replied  to  this  in  a  murmur  quite 
inaudible  to  the  listener  upstairs,  but  Auntie 
Rosie's  response  was  loud  and  cheerful. 

"Oh,  they  wad  niver  hae  kent  it  was  Jean. 
She  wasna  like  a  human  buddy  ava',  if  it  hadna 
been  for  the  bit  brooch  at  her  neck.  Ye  mind"? 
It  had  Miss  Marget's  hair  ae  side  and  her  photo- 
graph the  ither." 

Elspeth  got  out  of  the  bath,  white  and  trem- 
bling in  every  limb.  Never  had  the  proverb 
anent  "little  pitchers"  been  better  illustrated. 


The  wonder  was  she  did  not  pull  the  shower 
down  in  her  terror  and  agitation.  But  before 
she  ran  away  to  hide  under  the  drawing-room 
sofa — her  usual  place  of  retreat  in  times  of  great 
tragedy — she  could  not  help  hearing  the  rest,  as 
she  stood  for  a  moment  transfixed  with  horror. 

"Ay,  they're  buryin'  her  the  day.  Takin'  her 
up  back  streets  no'  tae  hae  a  croud  aif  ter  her.  She 
was  awfu'  weel  likit  was  Jean.  I  dinna  ken 
whaur  they'll  pit  her.  I  didna  hear.  They 
canna  pit  her  hi  the  kirkyaird  amang  ither  dacent 
fowk,  and  they  canna  hae  ony  prayers  ower  her." 

No  prayers!  No  proper  grave  in  the  church- 
yard !  Jane,  her  Jane  of  the  merry  heart,  could 
have  no  prayers  said  over  her,  and  was  not  good 
enough  to  lie  beside  the  rest  of  the  departed,  who 
had  shaken  off  their  burden  of  mortality  in  the 
usual  fashion! 

Elspeth's  blood  boiled  with  indignation.  It 
boils  still  when  she  thinks  of  it. 

Ah,  it  is  well  that  the  gates  of  Heaven  are 
wide,  for  the  ways  of  men  are  often  very  narrow. 
And  for  that  poor  unhinged  mind,  and  heart 
broken  with  the  strength  of  its  great  love  and  de- 
votion to  an  earthly  mistress,  there  may  have  been 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  WATERS     83 

tender  mercy  shown  even  at  the  threshold  of  that 
other  life.     Who  knows? 

Elspeth,  child  as  she  was,  could  not  have  put 
her  indignant  feelings  into  words  if  she  had  tried. 
But  it  was  not  long  till,  by  dint  of  much  worrying 
of  the  Dragon  in  the  cemetery  (after  seeing  her 
in  deep  and  solemn  converse  with  the  grave-dig- 
ger), she  discovered  the  nameless  mound  by  the 
rubbish  heap  and  prayed  her  defiant,  heterodox 
prayers  beside  it. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A   DAY    OF    SOLEMN   THINGS 

A  SABBATH  peace  lies  over  my  garden. 
The  very  bees  seem  to  hum  more  softly 
in  its  stillness. 

In  the  distance  I  hear  the  musical  chimes  of 
the  Church  of  St.  Bertram's  playing  a  hymn- 
tune.  The  tinkling  bell  of  St.  Cuthbert's  floats 
down  from  the  promontory  at  the  end  of  the 
cliffs.  The  invitation  of  St.  Mary's,  Star-of-the- 
Sea,  rings  far  out  over  the  furled  sails  of  the  fish- 
ing smacks  and  yachts,  snugly  tucked  away  for 
their  day's  rest  in  the  harbour.  It  is  a  day  of 
rest  and  solemn  things. 

The  call  to  worship  here  in  the  south  is  soft, 
inviting,  even  caressing.  Things  were  different 
in  that  old  grey  town  where  Elspeth  lived  in  the 
days  of  her  childhood.  The  loud  "cling,  clang," 
of  the  bell  of  the  Doctor  of  Thunders'  church  was 
peremptory,  depressing,  commanding.  You  dis- 
obeyed that  sound  at  your  peril.  Peril  of  the 
Doctor's  pulpit  denunciations,  peril  of  the  soul  in 
the  world  to  come. 


A  DAY  OF  SOLEMN  THINGS       85 

But  to  Elspeth  herself  the  Sabbaths  began 
softly  too,  in  those  days.  In  a  feathery  corner 
of  her  father's  big  bed,  shrouded  by  soft  curtains 
of  delicate  grey  and  green,  cuddled  up  warm  and 
close  in  his  loving  arms,  she  and  her  father  had 
been  exchanging  confidences  since  quite  early  in 
the  morning,  and  talking  and  laughing  over  the 
doings  of  the  week. 

She  was  conveyed  thither  on  Saturday  nights, 
fresh  from  the  bath  and  the  Dragon's  scrubbing, 
delicately  perfumed  with  wholesome  Brown 
Windsor,  with  the  tangles  of  her  still  only  half- 
dry  curls  neatly  encased  in  a  net  of  white  tape, 
which  stayed  on  exactly  five  minutes  by  the  clock 
and  had  to  be  hunted  for  at  the  foot  of  the  bed 
in  the  morning.  She  had  gone  to  sleep  early  by 
the  cheerful  flicker  of  her  father's  bedroom  fire, 
or  the  twinkle  of  innumerable  stars  shining  in  at 
his  window,  to  wake  and  find  him  beside  her. 
For  try  as  hard  as  she  could  she  never  managed 
to  keep  awake  till  he  came.  It  was  the  one  weekly 
treat  of  those  two  lonely  ones,  the  one  and  only 
opportunity  they  had  of  learning  to  know  each 
other  better,  and  so  of  getting  a  little  more  closely 
to  the  heart  of  things. 

There  is  something  infinitely  pathetic  in  the 


86  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

efforts  of  a  widowed  man  to  take  the  part  of  both 
parents  to  a  little  child.  A  widowed  mother's 
task  is  hard  indeed,  God  knows!  but  the 
widower's,  to  my  mind,  is  harder  still.  For  a 
true  woman  has  a  sense  of  intuition  into  a  child's 
mind  which  a  man  does  not  possess.  He  can 
only  put  forth  clumsy  efforts  where  a  woman  has 
her  natural  instincts  to  guide  her.  And  espe- 
cially hard  must  it  be  for  him  when  the  child  is  a 
girl.  Her  nature  is  an  unknown  world  to  a  man 
with  no  wife  to  guide  him  through  its  in- 
tricate mazes.  The  enigma  and  mystery  of 
womanhood  is  there,  the  woman's  soul  in  embryo, 
and  who  can  understand  it?  The  depths  of  a 
woman's  soul  who  can  fathom?  And  as  the 
twig  is  bent  so  is  the  tree  inclined. 

In  the  case  of  Elspeth's  father,  who  had  no 
womankind  whatever  belonging  to  him,  and 
whose  young  wife  had  only  been  with  him  one 
short  year,  it  was  unusually  hard.  His  endeav- 
ours to  draw  out  this  woman-child  of  his,  to  try 
and  discover  what  lay  underneath  that  apparently 
transparent,  dimpled,  pink-and-white  little  piece 
of  humanity,  were  very  tender,  but  a  little  awk- 
ward. She  was  so  new  and  strange  to  him.  His 


A  DAY  OF  SOLEMN  THINGS       87 

heart — a  loving  and  sympathetic  heart — ached 
often  for  some  help  in  the  matter. 

She  had,  naturally,  no  such  feelings.  If  she 
woke  first  in  the  morning  she  promptly  roused 
him  by  kissing  him.  First  on  the  smooth  patch 
of  cheek  which  lay  above  his  dark  moustache. 
Next  on  his  nose,  and  then  on  the  dimple  in  the 
middle  of  his  smoothly  shaven  chin.  If  these 
blandishments  failed,  she  sat  on  his  chest  and 
rode  a  violent  gallop  on  it.  And  that  never 
failed  to  wake  him  and  make  him  call  out; 

"Come,  come,  now.     You  little  monkey !" 

In  her  earliest  days  the  Sunday  morning's  com- 
panionship had  consisted  in  Elspeth's  climbing 
up  the  Ben  Nevis  of  his  knees,  raised  up  in  a  high 
heap  under  the  bedclothes,  and  riding-a-cock- 
horse  on  the  top  of  them,  then  falling  off  in  a 
tumbled  mass,  this  performance  being  many 
times  repeated.  The  laughter  and  shrieks  of  the 
pair  would  reach  down  to  the  kitchen,  where  the 
Dragon,  engaged  in  frying  sausages  for  her  own 
breakfast,  would  stop  and  shake  her  head  in 
strong  disapproval. 

"To  think  of  them!  On  the  Sabbath  too! 
He  ought  to  think  shame,"  she  would  say.  And, 
with  an  extra  shake  of  the  frying  pan  to  prevent 


88  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

the  sausages  from  burning,  she  would  repeat  in 
solemn  tones  her  morning  orisons : — 

"Remember  the  Sabbath  Day  to  keep  it 
holy." 

But  perhaps  the  merry  laughter  of  a  happy 
babe  and  her  tender,  widowed  father  was  no 
more  displeasing  to  the  Author  and  Framer  of  the 
commandment,  the  loving  Father  of  all,  than  the 
Dragon's  frying  of  Sabbatarian  sausages. 

As  Elspeth  grew  older  her  pleasures  were  more 
demure.  She  was  her  father's  little  companion 
and  comforter — his  sweetheart,  as  he  often  told 
her — and  she  sat  bolt  upright  in  the  crook  of 
his  arm  and  blinked,  owl-like,  in  wisdom  and 
sagacity,  as  he  told  her  of  his  doings  throughout 
the  week.  Where  he  had  been  on  Friday  when 
he  was  away  all  day;  with  whom  he  had  supped 
on  Thursday  night;  what  he  had  seen  in  the 
Court  House;  and  then  sometimes  he  would 
forget  she  was  there,  and  continue  a  forensic 
argument  with  some  legal  opponent.  He  had  to 
be  drawn  sharply  back  to  attention  when  that 
happened.  His  talk  was  no  doubt  much  beyond 
her.  He  was  a  clever,  highly-cultured  man,  and 
the  small  child's  mind  was  wholly  a  puzzle  to 
him.  But  they  were  both  very  happy  in  their 


A  DAY  OF  SOLEMN  THINGS       89 

own  way,  as  happy  as  was  possible  in  the  circum- 
stances. 

Elspeth  had  not  many  confidences  to  impart 
to  him  in  return.  Her  dolls'  escapades  would 
hardly  interest  him.  Her  life  was  •  dull  and 
monotonous  outwardly,  and  inwardly  was  full  of 
highly-coloured  imaginings  of  which  she  was  not 
even  quite  sure  he  would  approve.  Perhaps  if 
she  had  tried  she  would  have  found  more  sympa- 
thy and  understanding  from  him  than  she  ex- 
pected in  that  direction.  But  that  she  did  not 
know.  So  she  looked  wise  and  listened  to  him, 
telling  him  only  of  prim  walks  with  the  Dragon, 
of  an  occasional  tea-party,  or  a  visit  to  the  Park 
to  see  a  Review. 

He  invented  a  mysterious  language  code  for 
their  private  use.  It  was  somewhat  confusing, 
each  word  ending  in  "buss,"  and  the  conclusion 
of  a  sentence  being  marked  by  "jig."  It  sounded 
weird,  to  the  Dragon  it  seemed  positively  hea- 
thenish. There  was  much  laughing  over  each 
other's  mistakes. 

They  talked  together  on  many  subjects,  foolish 
and  the  reverse,  but  on  one,  as  if  by  a  tacit 
understanding  between  them,  they  never  spoke. 
It  was  ignored  as  if  it  had  no  existence,  although 


9o  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

the  rattle  of  cups  and  saucers  in  the  kitchen  was 
a  constant  reminder  of  its  actuality. 

That  subject  was  the  Dragon  herself.  For, 
if  the  truth  must  be  told,  she  ruled  the  father 
every  bit  as  much  as  she  ruled  the  child,  and  he 
was  quite  as  much  afraid  of  her. 

Only  once  had  Elspeth,  in  a  gush  of  infantile 
confidence,  told  him  of  an  unjust  whipping  which 
had  been  given  her,  and  he  was  so  angry,  and 
spoke  so  sternly  to  the  Dragon,  that  his  little 
daughter  hardly  knew  him,  so  great  was  the  trans- 
formation in  him.  He  would  have  been  sur- 
prised had  he  seen  what  happened  afterwards, 
and  how  severe  was  the  second  punishment  meted 
out  to  the  teller  of  tales,  and  the  texts  which 
Elspeth  learned  in-  the  coal-cellar  that  day. 

"He  that  goeth  about  as  a  talebearer  revealeth 
secrets.  .  .  ." 

"Whoso  keepeth  his  mouth  and  tongue  keepeth 
his  soul  from  troubles." 

It  was  completely  effectual  too,  and  the  texts 
were  imprinted  so  indelibly  on  her  memory  as  to 
check  her  from  ever  telling  her  father  about  her 
punishments  again. 

At  half-past  eight  the  Dragon's  hard  knuckles 


A  DAY  OF  SOLEMN  THINGS       91 

rapped  sharply  on  the  door,  and  her  voice,  always 
more  sour  on  Sundays,  announced ; 

"Your  shaving  water,  sir.  And  I  am  ready  for 
Elspeth." 

Half  an  hour  later  the  child,  clothed  in  her 
Sunday  silk  (for  the  frugal  Dragon  was  having 
her  mother's  gowns  made  down  to  her  a  little  bit 
at  a  time)  was  seated  by  her  father's  side  at  the 
breakfast-table.  No  common  porridge  to  be 
eaten  to-day;  only  delicious  ham  and  eggs, 
sausages  or  Findon  haddocks,  or  other  Sabbath 
dainties.  The  place  at  the  head  of  the  table  was 
always  significantly  left  vacant,  and  the  father 
moved  quickly  between  his  own  duties  at  the 
foot  and  the  lady's  at  the  head. 

There  was  not  much  time  for  conversation. 
The  Dragon  was  the  veriest  hustler  on  Sundays, 
and,  being  single-handed  below-stairs,  had  a  great 
rush  to  get  her  work  done  in  time  to  start  for 
church,  she  attending  a  distant  one  of  much  more 
severe  doctrine  than  the  Doctor  of  Thunders'. 
But  the  morning's  hurry  was  soon  over,  and,  after 
prayers,  Elspeth  and  her  father  might  have  been 
seen  walking  leisurely  to  church  together  hand  in 
hand,  she  trying  to  keep  step  with  his  long 


92  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

stride,  holding  on  proudly  to  a  blue  velvet  Tes- 
tament with  golden  clasps — the  Laird's  present  to 
her. 

The  church  they  attended  was  a  large  one  and 
very  crowded.  The  Doctor  of  Thunders'  was  a 
famous  man  and  great  orator.  Elspeth  and  her 
father  sat  in  the  front  seat  of  the  gallery  facing 
him.  And  here  Elspeth's  seventh  day  ordeal 
began. 

It  was  not  the  sitting  still  through  a  long 
service,  though  that  was  hard  enough.  It  was 
not  the  wearisome  long  prayers,  when  the  grown- 
ups had  to  stand  upright  listening  to  the  Doctor's 
eloquent  perorations  to  the  Almighty  till  their 
legs  were  stiff,  and  they  had  to  "change  their 
feet"  as  silently  as  possible  for  fear  of  disturbing 
him.  For  then  she  was  allowed  to  disappear 
under  the  book-board  and  sit  on  a  little  wooden 
footstool,  where,  I  am  sorry  to  say  she  played 
with  her  gloves  and  made  up  stories  on  her 
fingers,  so  that  the  time  passed  pleasantly  and 
swiftly.  Nor  was  it  the  singing  of  the  Psalms, 
for  she  loved  music  and  joined  her  childish  treble 
to  her  father's  rich,  musical  voice  long  before  she 
could  read,  singing  "The  Lord  is  my  Shepherd," 
to  every  tune  which  the  percenter  showed  from 


A  DAY  OF  SOLEMN  THINGS       93 

his    little    platform.     But    it   was    the    sermon. 

The  Doctor's  sermons  were  learned  and  pro- 
found. They  needed  the  whole  attention  of  his 
cultered  hearers,  and,  naturally,  rumbled  over  the 
heads  of  the  ignorant  and  illiterate.  They  had 
caused  him  deep  and  profound  study,  and  much 
burning  of  midnight  oil,  and  as  he  preached  with- 
out a  single  note  he  expected  to  be  listened  to 
in  the  most  reverent  silence.  He  was,  moreover, 
a  man  of  a  highly  nervous  temperament  and 
could  not  bear  interruptions.  You  could  have 
heard  a  pin  drop  during  his  pauses,  while  he 
looked  round  on  his  large  and  influential  con- 
gregation. His  deep  voice  alone  must  be  heard 
in  their  midst.  The  rustle  of  his  stiff  silk 
gown  as  he  pulled  it  closer  over  his  shoulders, 
after  reading  his  text  slowly  and  impressively 
twice,  was  the  signal  for  a  death-like  stillness 
throughout  the  whole  church. 

And  that  also  was  the  signal  for  Elspeth's 
misery  to  begin.  With  the  last  word  of  the 
Doctor's  text  something  began  tickling  in  her 
throat  every  Sunday.  It  was  a  veritable  device 
of  the  Evil  One,  to  make  her  miserable  and  dis- 
turb everybody  around  her.  She  fought  against 
it,  she  struggled,  she  prayed.  It  was  no  use.  It 


94  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

was  there.  Something  that  wriggled,  and  irri- 
tated, and  tickled,  like  a  little  worm. 

"Ahem!"  coughed  Elspeth  softly,  as  soon  as 
the  sermon  began,  and  her  father  looked  at  her 
gravely.  With  the  effort  to  suppress  it  it  grew 
worse,  and,  after  one  or  two  more  abortive 
"Ahems,"  there  was  a  terrific  blurt  which 
sounded  like  an  explosion.  In  vain  she  sucked 
three  peppermints  which  the  Dragon  gave  her 
always  in  her  pocket  before  she  left  home. 
They  quieted  her  for  the  time,  but  three  pepper- 
mints, however  carefully  eked  out  by  the  slowest 
sucking,  do  not  last  seventy-five  minutes,  the 
time-limit  of  the  Doctor's  weekly  sermon.  Her 
father  took  her  hand  and  gave  it  a  little  shake, 
and  looked  at  her  sternly.  He  was  cross,  and 
the  tears  rushed  into  her  eyes.  He  thought  she 
was  making  it  up,  because  once  he  had  taken  her 
out  to  finish  it  in  the  passage,  and  she  got  home 
nice  and  early  in  consequence. 

"Did  I  hear  Elspeth  coughing  again  upstairs 
to-day?"  asked  her  grandfather,  as  they  met 
him  coming  out  of  church,  after  the  service,  at  the 
main  door. 

"You    did,"    responded   her    father   gravely. 

"Has   she   got   a   cold?"    asked   grandfather 


A  DAY  OF  SOLEMN  THINGS       95 

anxiously.  She  was  his  only  grandchild,  the 
daughter  of  his  only  child,  and  the  very  apple  of 
his  eye.  "Linseed  tea,  I  have  heard,  is  a  very 
good  thing  for  coughs." 

"She  has  no  cold,"  said  her  father  grimly. 
"It  is  her  usual  Sunday  cough  which  seizes  her 
every  Sunday  morning  during  the  sermon.  It 
is  got  up  expressly  for  the  Doctor's  benefit  and 
to  aggravate  me,  I  think.  You  will  notice  she 
has  none  now." 

And  then  her  kind  grandfather,  too,  looked 
sternly  at  her. 

"The  Doctor  does  not  like  coughs,"  said  he 
significantly.  He  was  an  Elder  and  knew. 

That  was  just  it.  The  Doctor  did  not  like 
coughs.  He  had  been  known  to  stop  suddenly 
in  the  midst  of  his  sermon,  more  than  once,  to 
order  the  cougher  of  coughs  in  peremptory  tones 
to  leave  his  church.  On  Baptismal  Sundays  it 
was  quite  a  usual  thing  for  him  to  stop  suddenly 
in  his  final  address  to  the  parents  to  say; 

"Take  that  child  out,"  to  the  mother  of  an 
unfortunate,  yelling  infant.  To  see  indignant, 
crimson,  monthly-nurses,  or  pale,  trembling, 
gentle-faced  mothers  retiring,  covered  with 
shame,  to  the  vestry,  carrying  babes  struggling 


96  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

with  baptismal  finery,  and  infantile  rage  at  the 
Doctor's  rough  "slushing"  of  cold  water  on  their 
faces,  was  quite  a  familiar  sight.  Many  a  time 
had  Elspeth  watched  them  go  out,  her  own  heart 
standing  still  at  the  sight,  and  she  herself  lived 
in  constant  terror  of  seeing  the  Doctor  fixing  her 
father  with  his  eagle  eye  and  saying; 

"Take  that  child  out." 

Visions  of  herself  in  the  eyes  of  the  decorous, 
well-dressed  congregation  stumbling — she  would 
be  certain  to  stumble — up  the  wooden  steps  from 
that  terribly  conspicuous  front  seat,  haunted  her 
dreams  at  nights.  Hence  the  Sunday  forenoon 
cough.  But  in  those  days  the  word  "nerves" 
would  not  have  been  permitted.  One  was  not 
supposed  to  possess  such  unruly  things.  For  a 
child  to  have  a  nervous  cough  would  have  been 
looked  upon  as  supremely  ridiculous.  Like  the 
megrims,  not  to  be  tolerated  for  one  moment. 

During  the  hurried  walk  home  after  the  service, 
and  still  hastier  snatching  of  a  cold  collation — 
the  Doctor  having  encroached  on  the  time  be- 
tween the  "diets"  of  worship,  thereby  curtailing 
the  diet  of  the  physical  man  by  the  rich  food  he 
distributed  for  the  mind — the  cough  vanished  as 
if  by  magic.  Nor  did  it  return  in  the  afternoon. 


A  DAY  OF  SOLEMN  THINGS       97 

For  the  afternoon  service,  shorter  and  calmer  than 
its  predecessor,  gave  weary  morning  listeners  time 
to  indulge  in  siestas.  Then  the  Doctor. himself, 
being  old,  and  unequal  to  sustain  the  effort  of 
conducting  two  long  services,  sat  in  the  front  seat 
downstairs  next  the  pulpit,  and  listened  to  his 
assistant,  a  mild  and  short-sighted  young  man  of 
serene  aspect,  unfolding  more  tranquil  doctrines. 
The  aged  and  the  very  young  slumbered  undis- 
guisedly.  Elspeth  flattened  her  beaver  or  Leg- 
horn hat,  according  to  the  season  of  the  year, 
against  her  father's  encircling  arms,  and  slept  com- 
fortably. He  himself  started  with  such  suspi- 
cious alertness,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  sermon, 
that  one  could  almost  have  sworn  he  had  been 
sleeping  too,  although  when  Elspeth  accused  him 
of  it  once  he  only  said,  "Hush,  hush,"  in  shocked 
tones. 

The  walk  home  in  the  afternoon  was  very 
pleasant.  There  was  now  no  hurry,  and  much 
shaking  of  hands  and  conversing  with  friends  took 
place,  the  genial  young  widower  being  a  general 
favourite  with  every  one.  Many  kind  ladies — 
spinsters  and  the  reverse — would  have  even 
managed  his  house  for  him  had  he  permitted 
them. 


98  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

Cheerful  smells  of  cooking  assailed  their 
olfactory  nerves  as  he  and  his  child  entered  their 
own  home  again,  for  the  Dragon  had  dashed  out 
of  her  church  the  moment  the  minister  had 
finished  his  sermon,  and  had  run  home  most  of 
the  way  on  purpose  to  cook  for  them.  Half  an 
hour  later  saw  them  seated  together  again,  smiling 
and  hungry,  disposing  of  tea  and  hot  meat  patties, 
or  steak,  or  other  viands,  what  in  Scottish  par- 
lance is  called  a  "tea-dinner."  The  Dragon 
waited  on  them  in  her  stiff  Sabbath  gown  of 
black  silk,  with  embroidered  muslin  collar  fas- 
tened with  a  gold  cameo  brooch  at  the  neck.  She 
would  pause  a  moment  perhaps,  ere  she  closed 
the  door  to  retire,  and  remark; 

"Mr.  Morrison  gave  us  a  splendid  sermon,  to- 
day, sir." 

There  was  always  some  jealousy  in  her  mind 
about  the  famous  and  eloquent  Doctor. 

"Did  he*?"  asked  her  master,  in  the  indifferent 
tone  of  one  who  was  hungry  and  preferred  to  get 
on  with  the  business  in  hand.  "Would  you  like 
two  pieces  of  sugar,  or  three,  Elspeth  *?" 

"Two,  please,"  said  Elspeth  demurely,  the 
Dragon  having  fixed  her  with  her  eye. 

"We  had  five  heads  and  a  finally,"  continued 


A  DAY  OF  SOLEMN  THINGS       99 

the  privileged  housekeeper,  turning  the  handle 
of  the  door  round  in  her  hand. 

"What  you  would  call  a  hydra-headed  ser- 
mon," said  her  master,  smiling  genially,  display- 
ing a  faultless  row  of  white  teeth  under  his 
moustache. 

"Sir?"  queried  the  Dragon  in  astonishment. 

"I  said  hydra-headed.  That  means  many- 
headed.  Rather  too  many  heads,  don't  you 
think?" 

"Not  too  many  for  me,  sir,"  said  the  Dragon 
severely. 

"Ah!"  said  her  master  helping  himself  to  an- 
other patty.  The  Dragon's  cooking  was  good, 
and  her  pastry  was  light  and  flaky  as  a  feather. 

"I  could  sit  all  day  listening  to  Mr.  Morrison 
expounding  the  sacred  Scriptures,"  commented 
she. 

"Ah,  well,  Janet,  you  are  fonder  of  long  ser- 
mons than  I  am,"  said  her  master.  "The  Doctor's 
seventy-five  minutes  are  just  about  sixty  too  long 
for  me.  Will  you  pass  the  mustard,  please, 
Elspeth?" 

"The  Doctor!"  snorted  the  Dragon  with  con- 
tempt, as  she  closed  the  door,  with  herself  out- 
side it,  feeling  herself  dismissed.  She  slammed 


ioo  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

the  one  at  the  top  of  the  kitchen  stairs,  and  de- 
scended to  the  lower  regions  to  air  her  grievances 
to  the  widowed  sister  who  always  spent  Sunday 
evenings  with  her. 

"A  lukewarm  Christian — that's  what  the 
master  is,"  she  said.  "Goes  to  church  and  says 
the  sermon  is  an  hour  too  long  for  him.  What 
could  he  get  out  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  sermon 
like  the  Episcopate?  A  lukewarm  Christian. 
Neither  hot  nor  cold.  And  God  said,  'I 
will ' " 

Here  she  paused  over  the  rude  word,  for  she 
was  particular  in  her  speech,  and  had  lived  with 
educated  and  refined  people  always.  Then  she 
continued  with  emphasis: 

"  'I  will  spue  them  out  of  my  mouth.' ' 

"Oh,  wheesht,  wheesht!"  ejaculated  her 
gentler  sister  in  horror.  "He's  a  gude  master 
to  you,  Janet.  We  canna  judge  other  folks. 
And  that  was  a  bad,  low  word  you  said.  Our 
mother  would  never  let  us  use  that  word  even 
when  we  were  bairns." 

"It's  in  the  Bible,"  snapped  Janet.  "And  he 
is  a  lukewarm  Christian,  that's  all  he  is.  He 
dances  and  plays  cards  nearly  every  night  in  the 
week,  and  goes  walks  on  Sabbath  evenings,  when 


A  DAY  OF  SOLEMN  THINGS      101 

he  might  be  Superintendent  of  the  Doctor's 
Sabbath  School.  Not  that  it  is  much  of  a  school. 
I  would  rather  be  a  doorkeeper" — (her  sister  was 
one) — "in  Mr.  Morrison's  Church  than  the  leader 
of  the  choir  in  the  Doctor's,  or  the  Superintendent 
of  the  Sabbath  School  either." 

And  then  they  fell  to  discussing  the  heads  of 
Mr.  Morrison's  sermon  in  the  tone  of  professional 
critics. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A    LITTLE    SACRAMENT 

ON  dull,  or  stormy,  or  wet  Sunday  evenings, 
when  Elspeth  and  her  father  stayed  at 
home  to  keep  house,  she  sat  on  her  own  little 
chair  by  the  sofa  after  tea,  toiling  over  the  learn- 
ing of  her  Psalm,  the  Dragon  helping  her  with 
the  long  words  as  she  cleared  away  the  tea-things. 
Her  father  was  in  the  habit  then  of  slipping 
away  upstairs.  Very  early  in  Elspeth's  life  had 
she  begun  to  listen  for  him  going  into  the  draw- 
ing-room overhead  after  tea  on  Sunday  evenings. 
She  knew  exactly  what  he  did  there.  He  strode 
across  the  room  first,  and  pulled  up  the  Venetian 
blinds  of  all  its  three  windows.  Then  he 
paused,  with  the  lace  curtains  held  back  in  his 
hand,  and  looked  out  into  the  square.  Quiet  as 
the  square  always  was,  it  was  doubly  so  on  Sun- 
days, when  there  was  not  even  the  cheerful 
whistle  of  an  errand-boy,  or  the  rattle  of  a  milk 
cart,  to  enliven  it. 

Then  he  walked  over  to  the  mantelpiece  and 

102 


A  LITTLE  SACRAMENT  103 

pretended  he  was  playing  with  the  candelabra  on 
it.  You  could  hear  the  tinkling  of  its  crystal 
prisms  downstairs.  But  Elspeth  knew  very  well 
he  was  only  shamming.  In  reality  he  was  look- 
ing at  a  pair  of  small,  hand-painted  pictures  in 
rose-wood  frames,  representations  of  birds  of 
Paradise  standing  on  branches  of  olive,  specimens 
of  the  delicate  art  of  that  womanhood  which  has 
now  passed  away,  except  in  old-fashioned  and 
out-of-the-way  corners.  Then  he  went  over  and 
looked  at  another  pair  of  pictures  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  room.  These  were  paintings  of  fruit, 
clusters  of  grapes,  brilliant-hued  apples,  and 
plums  with  the  bloom  on  them.  And  then  at  two 
more,  flowers  this  time,  roses,  wallflowers  and 
forget-me-nots. 

Then  he  took  a  bunch  of  keys  out  of  his  pocket, 
and,  unlocking  the  piano,  passed  his  white  hand- 
kerchief once  or  twice  lightly  over  the  keys. 
Then  he  walked  backwards  and  forwards  a  few 
times,  and  stopped  at  last  before  a  large  steel 
engraving  of  Turner's  Venice.  He  and  his  bride 
had  passed  their  honeymoon  in  Italy,  and  had 
glided — so  he  told  Elspeth — up  and  down  those 
very  lagoons  in  gondolas.  He  showed  her  the 


104  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

motion  on  his  knee  sometimes  and  hummed 
snatches  of  the  gondoliers'  songs  to  her. 

And  lastly,  he  opened  the  rose-wood  work- 
table,  and  touched,  as  tenderly  as  Elspeth  her- 
self, with  his  big,  masculine  fingers,  the  baby's 
little  unfinished  frock.  He  then  closed  the  table 
rather  hurriedly,  and  began  pacing  up  and  down 
the  room  again,  talking  to  himself.  It  was  from 
him  Elspeth  had  learnt  that  habit. 

Meantime  the  Dragon  and  her  sister  started 
off  for  their  Sunday  School,  going  out  at  the  front 
door,  the  back  being  locked.  Lonely  Elspeth 
stood  at  the  dining-room  window  watching  them 
go.  The  widow  smiled  kindly  at  her.  The 
Dragon  nodded  her  head  a  great  many  times,  a 
pantomimic  gesture  which  meant  as  plainly  as 
words  could  say,  "Sit — down — and — learn — 
your — Psalm — this — very — minute." 

Her  father,  drawn  to  the  window  again  by 
the  slamming  of  the  dopr,  smiled  under  his 
moustache  at  the  antics,  then  hastily  dropped  the 
curtain  and  drew  back  when  he  saw  the  women 
looking  up. 

Elspeth,  sighing  wearily,  returned  to  her  chair, 
and  toil  of  Psalm-learning,  and  the  reasons  an- 
nexed to  the  Fourth  Commandment. 


A  LITTLE  SACRAMENT  105 

"Oh,  dear  me,"  she  said.  "Why  couldn't 
King  David  make  the  Esalms  easier  to 
learn? 

'Kiss  ye  the  Son  lest  in  his  ire 
Ye  perish  from  the  way.' 

What  is  his  'ire,'  and  why  am  I  to  kiss  him?"  she 
questioned,  but  there  was  no  one  to  answer. 
She  droned  over  the  Psalm  after  the  manner  of 
the  unlearned,  repeating  it  in  a  sing-song  style 
like  the  Dragon,  rocking  her  body  backwards  and 
forwards  in  a  seesaw-like  motion  to  keep  time  to 
the  rhythm. 

Upstairs,  she  heard  her  father  come  out  of  the 
drawing-room  and  walk  into  the  shrouded  spare- 
room,  and  close  the  door  behind  him.  She  had 
never  found  out  what  he  did  in  that  room  on 
those  quiet  evenings.  He  never  pulled  up  the 
blinds  there,  nor  did  he  walk  about  and  talk  to 
himself.  He  never  opened  the  wardrobe,  nor  the 
bottom  drawer,  for  both  of  them  creaked  loudly 
and  she  would  have  recognised  the  sound  directly. 
From  the  time  he  went  into  that  gloomy  room  till 
he  came  out,  some  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  later, 
there  was  absolute  silence  in  the  house. 

Once,  feeling  very  eerie  downstairs  with  the 


106  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

darkness  gathering  apace,  Elspeth  crept  up  to 
the  outside  of  the  door  and  waited  for  him, 
leaning  against  it.  She  heard  him  then  speaking 
softly  within.  His  voice  sounded  low  down, 
near  the  door,  as  if  he  might  be  kneeling  by  the 
bed.  He  was  not  speaking  in  the  tone  he  used 
when  he  walked  about  talking  to  himself.  His 
voice  was  very  reverent  and  pleading,  as  if  he 
talked  to  Someone  Who  listened.  It  was  as  the 
tender  tone  of  a  child  asking  its  Father  for  help. 
And  Elspeth  went  quietly  away  again  and 
wondered  if  he  could  be  praying.  She  never  in- 
truded after  that,  but  always  waited  patiently 
till  she  heard  him  once  more  pacing  up  and  down 
the  long  drawing-room. 

She  watched  Leerie-light-the-lamps  running 
first  up  one  side  of  the  square,  and  then  down 
the  other,  with  his  ladder  and  his  long  magic 
wand  with  the  gas-jet  in  it.  How  swiftly  he  ran 
up  the  ladder,  and  how  quickly  he  vanished  out 
of  sight  altogether,  leaving  all  the  lamps  shim- 
mering behind  him.  One  just  outside  their  own 
gate  cast  a  glow  on  Elspeth's  wistful  little  face. 
Then  she  slipped  away  upstairs  to  the  drawing- 
room  to  her  father,  and  said; 

"Please,  father,  I  am  lonely,  and  it  is  dark 


A  LITTLE  SACRAMENT  107 

downstairs.     Leerie  has  lit  all  the  lamps,  and  I 
know  my  Psalm." 

Then  her  father  would  hold  out  a  loving  hand. 

"Poor  little  daughter.  Did  father  forget  you 
then?  Come  and  walk  with  him  up  and  down 
this  long  room." 

So  then  they  walked  up  and  down  together, 
she  holding  his  arm  and  taking  mighty  strides 
with  her  short  legs  to  keep  in  step  with  him. 
They  did  not  talk  much.  The  man's  thoughts 
were  far  away,  and  I  do  not  pretend  to  know 
what  they  were  after  that  little  visit  to  the 
shrouded  room.  But  I  do  know  Elspeth's,  and 
I  know  that  they  were  very  much  on  the  subject 
of  clothes. 

For  although  it  may  be  very  nice  to  walk  in  silk 
attire,  and  Elspeth  was  often  vain  enough  to  put 
her  hands  under  her  best  lace- trimmed,  muslin 
pinafore  and  smooth  down  her  silken  Sabbath 
frock,  she  had  a  certain  sense  that  it  was  hardly 
appropriate  wear  for  her.  Other  little  girls  of 
her  own  age,  those  -mothered  little  girls  that  she 
came  across  in  the  nurseries  of  her  parents' 
friends,  wore  cottons  and  muslins  in  summer, 
even  on  Sundays,  and  merinos  or  winceys  in 
winter.  None  of  them  wore  silk,  although  some 


io8  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

of  their  parents  were  quite  rich,  much  richer  than 
hers.  They  looked  admiringly  at  her  when  she 
wore  her  best  frocks  to  their  houses  to  tea,  and 
touched  its  shimmering  surface  with  envious 
fingers.  While  Elspeth,  with  a  choking  sob  in 
her  throat,  explained  hastily; 

"It  is  my  own  mother's  frock  made  down  to 
me." 

It  was  an  act  of  vandalism  in  her  eyes. 
There  was  sacrilege  in  the  very  thought  of  it. 

So  now  she  imagined,  as  she  walked  beside  her 
father,  that  she  was  dressed  in  simple  cottons  and 
woollens  like  other  children,  and  that  on  this  other 
side  there  walked  the  slender,  graceful  figure  to 
whom  the  silk  gowns  had  originally  belonged. 

There  was  a  bonnet  in  the  band-box  in  the 
spare-room  wardrobe,  a  simple,  girlish  affair  of 
white  rice  straw,  trimmed  with  white  tulle  and 
little  bunches  of  myrtle,  with  sprays  of  white 
heather  tucked  under  the  brim  for  good  luck. 

"Her  going-away  bonnet,"  the  Dragon  had  ex- 
plained when  asked. 

So  Elspeth,  in  fancy,  retrimmed  that  bonnet 
and  put  it  on  the  head  of  the  imaginary  figure. 
If  she  herself  wore  a  blue  silk  dress  she  took  it 
off,  figuratively  speaking,  and  put  it  on  her  phan- 


A  LITTLE  SACRAMENT  109 

torn  mother,  and  the  bonnet  she  retrimmed  with 
nodding  blue-bells,  or  cornflowers,  such  as  grew 
in  the  Laird's  fields  in  autumn. 

If  she  wore  a  lilac  silk  herself,  then  the  bonnet 
had  heartsease  or  pansies  in  it.  And  if  she  wore 
her  grey,  thickly-lined  winter  silk,  then  the  figure 
wore  grey,  and  had  chinchilla  furs  (which  had 
also  been  cut  up  and  made  down  by  sacrilegious 
fingers)  round  her  throat,  and  a  black  velvet 
polka  and  round  velvet  turban  on  her  head,  such 
as  also  hung  in  the  wardrobe. 

Strange  fantastic  thoughts  of  a  lonely  child! 
Were  they  stranger  than  the  father's,  I  wonder, 
far  away  in  a  brown  study,  occasionally  speaking 
to  himself  in  low,  confidential  tones? 

The  clock  striking  seven  in  the  hall,  and  the 
blackness  of  the  gathering  night,  brought  them 
at  last  back  to  mundane  affairs  again. 

"We  must  go  down  now,"  said  the  father,  "or 
the  dining-room  fire  will  be  out,  and  Janet  will 
scold  us  both  when  she  comes  in." 

The  fire  generally  was  out,  or  nearly  so,  and 
hand  in  hand  they  explored  the  kitchen  cupboards 
for  wood,  and  paper,  and  bellows.  They  lit  it 
again  together,  Elspeth  poking  the  wood  with  her 
fingers  and  her  father  sitting  on  a  hassock  with  his 


no  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

long  legs  crossed,  bellows  in  hand,  blowing  hard 
to  make  a  blaze. 

When  the  Reverend  Ebenezer  Morrison,  on  his 
ministerial  calls  on  the  Dragon  twice  a  year,  after 
inquiring  about  her  own  spiritual  state,  put  the 
question  (he  had  a  bad  memory  so  he  generally 
put  the  same  question)  : 

"And  this  family  you  serve  with?  Are  they 
decided  Christians  like  yourself?" 

The  Dragon  would  answer  modestly : 

"There  is  only  my  master  and  his  little  mother- 
less girl.  And  I  try  to  do  my  duty  by  the  little 
girl,  sir." 

Mr.  Morrison  would  then  say  suavely: 

"I  am  sure  you  do,  Janet.  I  am  sure  you  do. 
But  your  master,  what  of  him?" 

Janet  would  then  purse  up  her  lips  and  reply, 
after  a  pause: 

"My  master,  sir,  is  a  member  of  the  fashionable 

Dr.  Z 's  church.  He  is  a  regular  attendant 

and  communicant  there.  But "  she  would 

add,  shaking  her  head  slowly  and  sadly,  "he  is 
not  a  'professor.' " 

Then  Mr.  Morrison  would  say  "Ah!"  very 
gravely,  and  smooth  his  black  kid  gloves  care- 
fully before  he  shook  hands  with  her.  He  said 


A  LITTLE  SACRAMENT  .111 

"Ah!"  again  as  he  reached  the  gate.  That  ex- 
plained the  fine  editions  of  Shakespeare,  and 
"Don  Quixote,"  and  other  ungodly  books  which 
he  had  seen  in  the  book-case.  But  by  the  time 
he  had  reached  the  bottom  of  the  square  he  had 
forgotten  all  about  the  little  household.  Such 
was  the  fine  quality  of  his  absent  mind. 

Not  being  a  "professor"  therefore,  it  never 
occurred  to  Elspeth's  father  that  he  should  have 
been  hearing  his  child  repeat  the  shorter  Cate- 
chism, and  her  badly  learnt  Psalm,  but  when  the 
fire  was  blazing  merrily,  and  the  bellows  had  been 
put  away,  he  brought  down  the  large  Bible  from 
its  place  in  the  book-case  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 
His  own  views  were  so  broad  and  liberal  that 
even  the  little  childish  mind,  blank  as  yet  as  a 
sheet  of  clean  paper,  he  would  leave  at  liberty 
to  form  its  own  views  unbiassed,  and  to  drink 
them  in  only  from  that  well  of  religion  undefiled, 
the  Bible.  He  would  have  been  rather  aston- 
ished at  the  result  sometimes,  could  he  have  read 
her  thoughts. 

Then  they  read  a  chapter  together,  Elspeth 
stumbling  over  the  verses  from  a  very  early  age. 
It  was  generally  in  the  Psalms,  and  no  comments 
were  made.  There  is  a  grand  roll  about  the 


112  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

Psalms  and  they  have  not  very  many  long  words. 
They  make  a  splendid  reading-book  for  a  child. 
It  was  John  Wesley,  I  think,  whose  first  reading- 
book  was  the  Book  of  Proverbs.  The  Psalms 
were  the  child,  Elspeth's.  And  if  the  stem 
Dragon  trained  her  in  the  way  she  should  go, 
according  to  King  Solomon's  rules  as  laid  down 
in  the  Proverbs,  and  the  silver-haired  Laird 
opened  the  Book  of  Nature,  and  showed  her  all 
the  Manuscripts  of  God  unrolled  for  even  such 
an  infant  student  to  read,  it  was  her  father  who 
taught  her  the  art  of  reading  itself  out  of  the 
Book  of  Psalms.  And  when  his  fine  voice  rolled 
over  the  "Selah,"  when  it  came  at  the  end  of  the 
verses,  Elspeth's  childish  treble  rolled  in  imita- 
tion, although  she  had  not  the  remotest  idea  what 
it  meant. 

That  Bible,  too,  was  an  education  in  itself.  It 
was  so  large  and  heavy  that  even  the  Dragon 
could  not  move  it.  It  was  bound  in  exquisite 
calf.  It  had  gold  edges,  and  on  its  fly-leaf  was 
written  in  firm,  characteristic  handwriting: — 

"Present  to  Mr  and  Mrs  Hugh  Arnot,  on  the 
auspicious  occasion  of  their  marriage,  by  their  affec- 
tionate friend  and  pastor." 


A  LITTLE  SACRAMENT  113 

Here  followed  the  Doctor's  distinguished 
name — a  name  well  known  in  Scottish  ecclesias- 
tical history  and  unnecessary  to  be  put  down  here. 

Never  had  the  Doctor  of  Thunders'  fine 
cultured  taste  shown  itself  more  than  in  his  choice 
of  this  costly  and  beautiful  wedding-present. 
The  large  pictures  in  it,  of  which  there  were 
many,  were  exquisite  reproductions  of  the  works 
of  the  Great  Masters.  Elspeth  spent  hours 
poring  over  them,  weeping  tears  of  sympathy 
over  the  Massacre  of  the  Innocents,  and  thrilled 
with  awe  over  Daniel  in  the  Lions'  Den. 

There  was  a  Family  Register  between  the  Old 
and  New  Testaments,  with  a  space  for  births, 
marriages,  and  deaths.  That  space  was  empty. 
All  round  it  were  artistic  drawings  of  the  seven 
ages  of  man.  From  the  infant  in  the  cradle  to 
the  youth  bringing  home  his  bride,  and  the  aged 
couple  passing,  after  many  years,  into  the  grave 
together,  emerging  on  the  other  side  radiant  with 
the  beauty  of  eternal  youth.  On  that  page 
Elspeth  loved  to  linger.  To  family  life  of 
all  sorts  the  solitary  child's  heart  was  drawn. 
But  her  father  always  turned  it  over  hastily,  as 
if  he  did  not  wish  to  see  it. 

"Why  are  there  no  names  here*?"  she  asked 


114  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

every  time,  and  he  evaded  a  reply.  Or  else,  if 
she  were  very  persistent,  answered; 

"Because  there  are  so  few  of  us." 

"There  are  you  and  me,"  argued  Elspeth. 

Then  he  would  get  up  and  walk  about. 

When  she  was  tired  of  gazing  at  it  and  think- 
ing how  nice  her  full  name,  Elspeth  Grant 
Arnot,  would  have  looked  there,  she  slipped  up  to 
him  with  a  whispered  request. 

"Not  to-night,  darling,"  he  replied. 

"Please"  she  insisted. 

"You  had  it  only  a  Sunday  or  two  ago." 

"It  is  five  Sundays,"  said  Elspeth,  pouting. 
"I've  been  at  grandpa's  three  Sunday  evenings 
running,  and  the  one  before  that  Janet  had  a  bad 
cold  and  was  at  home.  It  is  five  Sundays." 

But  he  shook  his  head.  Then  Elspeth  tried 
blandishments,  and  began  to  pull  his  hand  to- 
wards the  sideboard.  She  told  him  that  he  was 
the  dearest,  darlingest  father  that  ever  a  little 
girl  had,  and  she  loved  him  more  than  she  could 
tell.  The  whole  world  was  not  big  enough  to 
hold  her  love,  it  was  just  bushels  full. 

He  smiled  at  that,  but  still  he  shook  his  head. 

Then  Elspeth  tried  tears.  She  screwed  a  few 
far-fetched  ones  out  into  her  diminutive  pocket- 


A  LITTLE  SACRAMENT  115 

handkerchief,  and,  after  watching  to  see  the  effect, 
gave  a  little  smothered  sob.  That  was  very 
effectual.  Her  father  could  not  stand  tears, 
much  less  the  sobs  which  were  now  following  in 
quick  succession. 

He  closed  the  big  Bible  quickly  and  moved  it 
to  the  foot  of  the  table,  and  walked  over  to  the 
sideboard  of  his  own  accord,  jingling  the  keys  in 
his  trousers'  pocket  as  he  went. 

Elspeth  dried  her  tears  and  watched  him 
surreptitiously  behind  the  handkerchief. 

Her  father  took  a  table-napkin  out  of  the  side- 
board drawer  and  spread  it  smoothly  at  the  top 
of  the  table.  Then  he  unlocked  the  middle  com- 
partment of  the  sideboard,  and  drew  out  with 
great  care  the  ornamental  top  of  a  wedding-cake. 
It  stood  on  a  silvered  pedestal,  and  round  it  there 
ran  sprays  of  white  heather  (that  false  emblem 
of  good  luck!),  and  from  the  sugared  vase  which 
it  upheld  there  fell  sprays  of  white  honeysuckle, 
and  jasmine,  and  orange-blossoms. 

"It  is  a  very  beautiful  wedding-cake,  father," 
Elspeth  said,  coming  over  to  him  now,  and  slip- 
ping her  hand  in  his.  She  knew  the  value  of 
such  little  caresses. 

"This  was  only  the  top  of  it,"  he  replied.     "It 


ii6  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

had  three  tiers,  each  one  bigger  than  the  one  be- 
neath. That  is  how  it  is  there  is  still  some  left." 

He  brought  out  a  square  biscuit-tin  from  the 
interior  of  the  sideboard  as  he  spoke,  and  tenderly 
lifted  a  large  piece  of  wedding-cake  out  of  it  on 
to  the  lid.  Then,  with  a  silver  fruit  knife  out 
of  the  drawer,  he  cut  two  small  and  delicate 
squares  of  almond-icing,  sugar-icing,  and  rich 
cake,  and  laid  them  on  the  table-napkin. 

By  this  time  Elspeth  had  clambered  on  to  his 
knee,  and  his  arm  went  round  her  lovingly  as 
they  nibbled  their  cake  together. 

"I  think  wedding-cake  is  the  most  beautifullest 
thing  in  the  whole  world,"  said  she. 

"Do  you?" 

"Not  every  little  girl  gets  the  chance  of  eating 
her  own  mother's  wedding-cake.  Does  she, 
father?" 

"Not  every  little  girl." 

"It  is  like  taking  the  sacrament,  isn't  it, 
father?"  asked  Elspeth,  who  had  once  watched 
with  deep  interest  the  administration  of  that  holy 
ordinance  from  her  seat  in  the  gallery,  and  had 
been  deeply  impressed  with  her  grandfather's 
solemn,  white  neck-tied  appearance. 

"Perhaps  it  is — just  a  little,"  her  father  replied 


A  LITTLE  SACRAMENT  117 

slowly.  He  was  always  strangely  quiet  on  those 
occasions. 

Did  the  spirit  of  the  young  wife  and  mother 
draw  near,  I  wonder,  and  watch  the  two  lonely 
ones  that  she  had  left  behind  eating  her  wedding- 
cake — in  remembrance4?  Who  knows"?  Per- 
haps she  did. 

"Grandpapa  says  I'm  not  a  bit  like  my 
mother,"  chattered  Elspeth.  "He  says  she  never 
had  a  whipping  in  all  her  life.  Fancy  that, 
father!  He  says  he  slapped  her  hand  just  once, 
and  he  remembers  that  slap  always,  for  he  found 
out  afterwards  she  hadn't  done  the  thing  he 
slapped  her  for,  and  it  had  nearly  broken  her  heart. 
She  was  different  to  me.  I  am  not  good  like  her. 
Do  you  think  I  mightn't  have  another  piece  of 
cake  now*?  Just  a  wee  bittie*?" 

But  her  father  said  "No,  no,"  and  drew  her 
very  close  to  him.  Then  he  kissed  her  and  set 
her  down. 

The  little  pieces  of  cake  were  finished  now,  and 
after  that  they  ate  up  all  the  precious  crumbs,  and 
put  everything  away  very  carefully  and  tidily. 
There  was  still  time  left,  before  the  Dragon  came 
home,  for  father  and  child  to  rest  a  little  together 
on  the  sofa,  and  so  end  that  day  of  solemn  and 


ii8  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

beautiful  things  as  they  had  begun  it,  in  each 
other's  arms. 

And  when  the  Dragon  came  in  at  last  she 
hustled  Elspeth  off  to  bed,  and  hustled  her  master 
to  the  supper  which  she  quickly  set  for  him,  and 
brought  them  both  right  away  down  to  the  com- 
monplaces of  daily  life  again  by  the  sheer  force  of 
her  personality.  And  it  may  be  it  was  just  as 
well  they  had  some  one  so  severely  practical  to 
manage  them  both. 


CHAPTER  IX 

GRANDFATHER,    THE    ELDER 

GRANDFATHER,  the  Elder,  lived  some 
little  distance  away,  in  a  house  on  one  of 
the  terraces,  with  a  little  strip  of  garden  in  front 
where  old-fashioned  flowers  bloomed  in  their  sea- 
son. Blue  periwinkles  climbed  up  the  railings. 
A  bed  of  lilies-of-the-valley  lay  beneath.  A 
moss-rose  occupied  the  place  of  honour  in  the 
round  bed,  edged  with  box,  in  the  middle,  and 
dusty  miller  auriculas,  purple  primroses,  and 
white  rockets  made  the  air  sweet  all  round. 

He  also  was  a  widower  with  a  housekeeper, 
but  an  even  more  lonely  one  than  his  son-in-law, 
for  he  was  absolutely  alone  in  the  world.  He 
had  married  late,  and  none  of  the  children  bom 
to  him  had  survived  their  infancy,  except  Elspeth's 
mother,  the  youngest  of  them  all.  His  wife  died 
early.  Thus  a  father  and  daughter  had  been  all 
the  world  to  each  other  in  the  former  generation 
also.  When  his  daughter  married — for  he  had 

not  been  so  selfish  as  to  wish  to  keep  her  always 

119 


120  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

with  him — although  he  was  very  lonely,  yet  he 
had  been  happy  in  seeing  her  happiness,  and  be- 
tween her  husband  and  himself  there  existed  a 
strong  attachment.  The  two  houses  were  not  so 
very  far  apart  but  that  the  young  wife  could  run 
in  to  see  him  every  day,  to  cheer  him  with  her 
bright  sunny  ways  and  still  look  after  his  house 
as  much  as  was  possible. 

.When  she  died,  one  short  year  later,  the  old 
man's  heart,  shaken  as  it  was  by  so  many  previous 
griefs,  seemed  for  a  time  quite  broken.  Indeed 
his  mind  almost  seemed  to  be  a  little  unhinged. 
As  he  came  back  from  his  son-in-law's  house  on 
that  dreadful  night  when  she  left  them,  he  knelt 
down  by  his  desolate  hearth  and  prayed  aloud  in 
Gaelic,  which  was  the  language  of  his  youth,  and 
in  which  he  had  more  fluency  of  expression. 

"O  God,"  he  prayed;  "thou  hast  taken  away 
the  mother,  the  light  of  my  eyes.  Take  away 
now,  we  pray  Thee,  the  child  also.  We  do  not 
want  it.  We  are  two  men  all  alone.  I  am  too 
old,  and  its  father  knows  nothing  at  all  about 
bairns,  and  what  can  two  men-folk  do  with  an  in- 
fant of  days?  A  woman-child,  too.  We  cannot 
manage  a  woman-child,  we  who  have  no  women- 
folk of  our  own  to  help  us.  Take  it  away  to  its 


GRANDFATHER,  THE  ELDER     121 

mother,  we  beseech  Thee.  And  we  will  thank 
Thee  and  bless  Thee  for  Thy  goodness  all  our 
days." 

They  said  also  that  he  had  prayed  something 
in  Gaelic  by  his  daughter's  bedside  as  she  lay 
dying,  and  that  she  had  opened  her  eyes  suddenly 
and  looked  at  him,  although  they  had  thought 
her  unconscious,  and  had  said  in  quite  a  clear, 
distinct  voice,  "No.  The  baby  will  comfort  you 
all."  But  no  one  understood  what  he  had  been 
saying  except  herself,  and  they  were  the  last  words 
she  spoke. 

However  that  may  be,  the  old  man's  prayers 
were  not  answered.  The  woman-child,  that  un- 
desired  infant  of  days,  flourished  exceedingly. 

When  her  nurse  brought  her  the  first  time  to 
see  him,  a  mass  of  dainty  cambric  and  lace,  with 
the  white  silk  hood  on  the  little  round  head  tied 
with  black  ribbon,  in  token  of  the  babe's  mourn- 
ing, the  newly  made  grandfather  turned  away  his 
head  and  said  simply,  "I  do  not  wish  to  see  her  at 
all." 

When  people  asked  the  old  man  very  tenderly 
after  his  infant  granddaughter,  he  replied; 

"I  do  not  know.  She  is  the  child  of  desola- 
tion. The  desolation  of  two  homes." 


122  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

And  at  last  he  desired  the  nurse  not  to  bring 
her  to  see  him  any  more,  for  he  could  not  bear  it. 

"Look  after  her.  Be  kind  to  her,  and  I'll  add 
something  handsome  to  your  wages,  my  good 
woman.  But  don't  bring  her  here  any  more  to 
see  me,"  was  what  he  said. 

"What  shall  we  call  her?"  asked  her  young 
father,  one  evening  when  it  was  getting  time  for 
her  to  be  christened,  as  he  sat  with  his  head  be- 
tween his  hands  staring  stonily  in  front  of  him. 

"Not  her  mother's  name,"  answered  the  grand- 
father sharply. 

But  he  made  no  objection  to  her  grandmother's 
quaint,  old-fashioned  name  being  bestowed  upon 
her.  That  long-passed  grief  had  healed.  It  was 
the  agony  of  the  new,  gaping  wound  which  for  a 
time  almost  unstrung  his  mind.  And  he  went 
himself  to  support  her  father  during  the  trying 
Baptismal  Service.  The  two  broken  men  were  a 
pathetic  sight  in  the  Doctor's  church  that  day. 

It  was  the  Doctor  himself  who  at  length  took 
his  Elder  to  task  about  the  child. 

"You  are  acting  wrongly,"  said  the  Doctor, 
and  the  fine  voice  which  thundered  in  the  pulpit 
•was  tender  and  soft  in  the  house  of  mourning. 
"You  are  acting  wrongly.  God  has  taken  away 


GRANDFATHER,  THE  ELDER     123 

your  sweet  daughter,  whom  you  trained  to  be  a 
bright  and  shining  light,  to  His  Higher  Service 
in  the  flower  of  her  youth.  And  He  has  sent 
you  this  child,  her  child,  instead,  as  a  token  of 
His  love,  and  to  show  you  that  He  did  not  mean 
you  to  be  left  utterly  desolate.  I,  myself,  have 
lost  six  sons  and  daughters " 

"But  you  have  six  left,"  interrupted  the  Elder. 

"I  have.  But  that  does  not  mean  that  I  have 
not  known  deep  sorrow  and  bereavement  in  losing 
the  six  who  have  gone  before  me.  I  have  not 
lost  my  one  ewe-lamb  as  you  have,  but  I  know 
your  feelings.  I  know,  I  understand,  and  my 
heart  beats  in  sympathy  with  you.  But  I  still 
say  to  you  that  you  are  acting  wrongly,  and  that 
it  is  rebellion  on  your  part,  rebellion,  pure  and 
simple,  to  the  Will  of  God." 

His  words  struck  home.  Grandfather  thought 
it  well  over,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
Doctor  was  right  and  that  perhaps  it  was  rebel- 
lion. He  had  said  "her  child"  too,  and  that  went 
straight  to  grandfather's  broken  heart  and  touched 
the  parental  chords  there.  Her  child,  therefore 
his  too. 

So  when  the  nurse  timidly  passed  his  house 
with  the  baby  next  time,  he  tapped  on  the  window 


124  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

for  her  to  come  in,  and  gravely  put  a  stick  of 
barley-sugar  in  the  tiny  hand,  which  promptly 
dropped  it. 

"Never  mind,  sir,"  said  the  nurse  consolingly; 
"she'll  take  it  soon.  She  takes  a  lot  of  notice 
now,  bless  her,  and  she'll  soon  know  when  grand- 
papa gives  her  barley  sugar.  Won't  you,  my 
Iambic?" 

He  did  not  refuse  to  see  her  any  more  after 
that.  But  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  touch 
her  for  many  a  long  day. 

As  she  grew  older,  she  seemed  to  know  in- 
stinctively that  his  attitude  towards  her  was  dif- 
ferent to  her  father's,  and,  woman-like,  she  deter- 
mined to  conquer  him.  The  eternal  feminine  in 
her  awoke  early.  Her  first  tottering  steps  were 
exhibited  proudly  to  him.  Her  first  lisping 
words  were  heard  by  him  rather  than  by  her  de- 
voted father. 

Then,  as  if  to  make  up  for  the  time  when  he 
could  not  bear  to  look  at  her,  the  grave,  somewhat 
stern,  old  man  became  her  willing  captive,  and 
as  months  passed  into  years  she  wielded  the  sceptre 
of  the  despot  over  him,  while  he  bore  his  chains 
of  slavery  with  submission,  and  even,  if  the  truth 
must  be  told,  with  secret  satisfaction  over  her 


GRANDFATHER,  THE  ELDER     125 

strength  of  character.  It  was  perhaps  some  con- 
solation to  him  that,  except  for  the  colour  of  her 
hair,  she  bore  no  resemblance  whatever  to  her 
mother  either  in  appearance  or  disposition. 

"I  am  quite  happy  about  her,"  said  the  Dragon 
to  her  sister,  on  her  way  to  her  Sunday  School  on 
fine  Sunday  evenings,  when  her  lukewarm  master, 
having  betaken  himself  to  the  country  for  a  con- 
templative walk  with  Nature — to  return  perhaps 
with  the  first  spring  violets  tucked  in  his  pocket- 
book  for  his  little  girl,  or  a  jaunty  wild-rose  in  his 
button-hole — as  she  left  Elspeth,  in  passing,  at 
her  grandfather's  door.  "I  am  quite  happy  about 
her  when  I  know  she  is  with  her  grandfather.  He 
'would  not  be  the  Doctor's  Senior  Elder  if  he  was 
not  very  strict,  for  the  Doctor  is  very  parteecular 
about  his  Elders.  I  knew  a  man  once  who  tried 
to  get  taken  on  in  his  church  as  a  deacon,  but  the 
Doctor  catechised  him  with  such  a  vengeance  that 
he  withdrew.  And  if  he  did  that  with  a  deacon, 
whatever  kind  of  a  stiff  questioning  would  it  be 
for  Elders'?" 

She  turned  round  as  she  spoke  to  wave  her 
hand  to  Elspeth,  who  was  now  meekly  standing 
at  the  door  waiting  for  admittance. 

"He  will  hear  her  say  her  Catechism  and  her 


126  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

Psalm,  and  will  see  that  she  sits  quiet  with  her 
hands  folded  for  the  rest  of  the  evening,  while 
he  gives  her  an  exhortation,"  continued  the 
Dragon.  "An  Elder  is  just  as  good  as  a  minister 
at  the  preaching  sometimes." 

Would  he? 

The  Elspeth  who  walked  so  primly  up  the  snow- 
white  steps  in  the  Dragon's  sight,  and  stood  so 
meekly  waiting  at  the  door,  was  not  the  same  as 
the  one  who  bounded  into  her  grandfather's  par- 
lour a  few  moments  later,  and  dashing  off  her  hat 
and  coat  on  the  sofa,  waited,  her  face  wreathed 
in  smiles,  for  what  was  to  follow. 

"Oh,  come  now,  come,"  said  her  grandfather, 
"that's  not  a  nice  girl.  You  must  come  and  say 
'How  do  you  do*?'  to  me,  politely." 

"I  saw  you  at  the  plate  this  morning,"  said 
Elspeth,  in  the  familiar  tone  of  one  talking  to  a 
contemporary.  "It  was  your  turn.  And  I  said 
'How  do  you  do?'  to  you  as  I  went  past." 

"Ah,  yes,  but  you  must  say  it  again.  That 
was  only  a  polite  greeting  in  passing." 

So  Elspeth  rose  and  shook  hands  with  him 
gravely.  They  did  not  kiss.  He  was  too  Scotch 
for  that  and  did  not  approve  of  kissing.  He  had 
never  kissed  her  in  his  life.  Privately,  Elspeth 


GRANDFATHER,  THE  ELDER     127 

thought  it  was  because  he  did  not  know  how  to 
do  it. 

"Now,  where  is  my  cheese-cake*?"  she  asked. 

Grandfather  patted  a  paper  bag  lying  beside 
the  book  he  was  reading. 

"Your  cheese-cake  is  here.  But  I  want  to 
know  first  what  sort  of  a  girl  you  have  been  this 
week.  Come,  sit  down  here  and  tell  me  how 
many  whippings  you  have  had." 

He  pushed  a  footstool  forward  for  her  beside 
his  knee — a  footstool  festooned  in  multi-coloured 
roses  in  wool-work  on  a  black  ground,  some  more 
of  the  work  of  her  mother's  industrious  fingers. 

"You  will  not  tell?'  said  Elspeth,  leaning  her 
elbow  on  his  knee. 

"No,  I  will  not  tell,"  he  replied  gravely. 
"Your  confidences  to  me  are  sacred.  You  know 
that." 

"Well,  then,  I've  had  six." 

"Oh,  dear  me!  That  is  shocking.  Six  in  a 
week.  That  means  one  every  day  except  the  Sab- 
bath." 

"She  never  whips  on  Sabbaths,"  explained  Els- 
peth. 

"Well,  now,  what  were  they  all  for?  What 
was  Monday's  whipping  for*?" 


128  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

"I  upset  my  porridge  down  my  clean  pinafore 
on  Monday,"  said  the  delinquent  glibly.  "I  spilt 
the  ink-bottle  on  the  table-cloth  on  Tuesday.  I 
couldn't  take  the  castor-oil  on  Wednesday " 

"Why  not1?"  interrupted  grandfather. 

"Because  I  can't  take  castor-oil.  It's  too 
horrid." 

"There's  no  such  word  as  'can't'  in  Webster's 
Dictionary.  You  can  do  anything  if  you  only  set 
your  mind  to  it." 

"I  prayed  about  it,"  said  Elspeth,  "I  did  truly. 
And  Janet  prayed  too,  but  it  wasn't  any  use.  I 
got  it  all  in  my  mouth  and  it  wouldn't  go  down. 
And  she  held  my  nose — and  I  kicked — and  it 
spluttered  all  down  her  dress.  It  was  her  new 
afternoon  dress  too.  And  oh!  she  just  was 
angry." 

"Oh  dear,  oh  dear,"  said  grandfather,  horri- 
fied. "I  am  afraid  there  is  no  cheese-cake  for 
you  to-night." 

"Do  you  take  castor-oil  every  other  Wednes- 
day night,  grandpapa?"  asked  she,  quickly  turn- 
ing the  tables  on  him. 

"No,  indeed,  I  do  not,"  said  grandfather, 
laughing. 

"Then  you  do  not  know  what  horrible  stuff  it 


GRANDFATHER,  THE  ELDER     129 

is.  But  senna-tea  is  worse.  Janet  puts  senna- 
leaves  in  an  old  teapot  and  lets  it  stew  all  the 
evening  on  the  kitchen  hob,  and  the  smell  goes 
all  upstairs.  And  I  can't  pray  about  senna-tea 
at  all.  I  never  try,  because  I  just  have  to  be 
whipped.  I  get  a  whole  teacupful  to  drink  arid  it 
just  won't  swallow.  Janet  pours  it  out  of  the 
teapot,  and  tells  me  to  pretend  it's  tea  without 
any  milk  in  it.  But  how  can  I,  with  such  a 
smell?" 

Grandfather  sighed.  He  ought  to  have  said 
something  here,  because  he  was  an  Elder.  It  was 
a  grand  opportunity  lost.  But  he  only  said: 

"Well,  what  about  Thursday?" 

"Let  me  see,  what  did  I  do  on  Thursday? 
Oh,  I  fell  down  and  cut  my  new  stockings.  And 
I  cut  my  knee  too,  but  Janet  said  that  didn't 
matter  a  bit.  It  only  served  me  right  for  not 
looking  where  I  was  going.  And  on  Friday  I 
couldn't  say  my  text.  And  on  Saturday  father 
stole  two  pieces  of  loaf-sugar,  and  Janet  blamed 
me " 

"Oh,  come,  come!     What  was  that?" 

"It  is  true,  grandpapa.  He  stole  two  pieces 
of  loaf-sugar  out  of  the  sugar-basin.  He  often 
does.  And  he  offered  one  to  me,  but  I  was  fright- 


130  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

ened  Janet  would  see  it,  so  I  didn't  take  it.  And 
he  said,  'Don't  tell  on  me,'  and  he  went  out 
crunching  it  up.  He  likes  sugar  every  bit  as  much 
as  me.  He  is  just  a  big  boy,  father  is.  Janet 
says  so,"  she  added,  with  a  maternal  air. 

"Well,  what  happened  then?" 

"Well,  Janet  whipped  me.  She  said  she 
counted  the  pieces  and  there  were  ten  left  when 
father  had  finished  his  breakfast,  and  that  I  had 
told  her  a  fearful  story.  She  whips  awfully  hard 
for  stories." 

Grandfather  compressed  his  lips.  They  were 
firm  lips,  and  his  chin  was  firm  too. 

"I  think  we'll  have  to  put  a  stop  to  some  of 
this,"  he  said. 

"You  promised  you  wouldn't  tell,  grandpapa. 
Now  I  want  my  cheese-cake,  please." 

She  knew  he  would  keep  his  word  or  she  would 
never  have  risked  telling  him. 

He  handed  her  the  paper  bag  and  watched 
her  eat  the  cheese-cake  in  it,  a  circular  hollow  of 
feathery  puff-pastry  crowned  by  a  pyramid  of 
macaroon,  a  triumph  of  the  art  of  the  profes- 
sional pastry-cook  in  the  Land  o'  Cakes.  She  ate 
it  slowly,  with  the  air  of  an  epicure,  taking  the 
outside  first  as  being  least  attractive  to  the  palate. 


GRANDFATHER,  THE  ELDER     131 

Stay  a  moment,  Time,  while  I  sketch  Grand- 
father, the  Elder.  Whose  eye  should  remember 
him  like  mine1?  Whose  pencil  ought  to  sketch 
him  better"?  He  has  been  gone  these  five-and- 
thirty  years,  and  the  world  in  which  he  lived 
has  forgotten  all  about  him  long  ago.  But  I 
remember.  He  did  not  like  kissing,  yet  God 
kissed  him  into  sleep,  and  he  knew  not  death, 
only  a  quiet  sleep  and  a  bright  awakening.  For 
the  food  that  I  have  eaten  and  the  raiment  I  have 
worn  these  many  weary  years  in  the  wilderness, 
and  in  the  shadow  of  the  prison-house,  I  am 
indebted,  humanly  speaking,  to  his  love  and  to 
his  foresight.  The  very  grave  where  they  laid 
him  belongs  to  me.  It  is  my  right,  then,  to  pause 
a  moment  here,  lest  the  day  should  come  when 
even  I  may  forget. 

The  rays  of  the  setting  sun  are  lingering  on 
his  abundant  silver  hair,  making  an  aureole  about 
his  head,  as  he  leans  back  by  the  window  watch- 
ing his  little  grandchild  eat  her  cake.  His 
straight,  beautiful  hair  falling  almost  to  his  shoul- 
ders, after  the  picturesque  fashion  of  his  youth. 
There  is  a  touch  of  the  pedagogue  about  his  thin, 
rather  long-shaped,  clever  face.  He  had  been  a 
schoolmaster  in  his  early  days,  and  the  firm,  un- 


132  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

wrinkled  hand  resting  on  the  arm  of  his  chair 
had  wielded  the  cane  many  a  time,  although  now 
it  only  had  acquaintance — a  prosperous  acquaint- 
ance— with  the  ledger  and  the  desk.  No  lack  of 
discipline  with  his  male  pupils  had  ever  been  put 
down  to  his  account,  although  his  small  grand- 
daughter could  now  wind  him  round  her  little 
ringer.  He  is  clean-shaven,  his  features  clearly 
cut.  A  certain  sternness  about  the  mouth  is  be- 
lied by  the  kindly  expression  of  his  eyes,  which 
are  blue,  limpid,  and  clear,  looking  through  gold- 
rimmed  spectacles  with  a  shrewd  but  slightly  quiz- 
zical gaze  upon  his  fellow-men.  An  observant 
face,  keen,  thoughtful,  the  dignity  of  the  clans- 
man easily  apparent,  albeit  he  is  the  most  humble- 
minded  of  men.  His  face  is  ruddy  with  the  hue 
of  health  and  a  naturally  fair  complexion,  as  be- 
comes one  who  has  been  brought  up 

"In  the  Highlands,  in  the  country  places, 
Where  the  old,  plain  men  have  rosy  faces 
And  the  young,  fair  maidens 
Quiet  eyes." 

His  figure,  spare,  active,  lithe,  at  threescore-and- 
ten,  he  is  even  a  dapper  old  man,  particular  both 
in  dress  and  speech.  His  elbow-chair,  of  black  oak 
with  a  horsehair  seat,  is  hard  and  uncomfortable. 


GRANDFATHER,  THE  ELDER     133 

The  men  and  women  of  his  generation  did  not 
lounge.  Do  I  not  know  it1?  When  I  broke  its 
left  elbow  off  three  times  through  sitting  side- 
saddle on  it,  and  he  said  I  would  land  him  in  the 
Bankruptcy  Court. 

But  now  the  cheese-cake  is  finished  and  Elspeth 
has  drawn  closer  with  her  next  demand.  One 
could  hardly  call  it  a  request. 

"I  am  ready  now  to  curl  your  hair,  grand- 
papa. It  is  most  terrible  straight  this  week.  If 
I  put  it  in  papers  soon  it'll  have  time  to  be  nice 
and  curly  before  I  go  home." 

"My  dear  little  girl,"  said  he,  the  instinct  of 
the  dominie  awake,  "you  must  not  say  'most  ter- 
rible.' It  is  ungrammatical  to  begin  with.  If 
you  must  use  such  awe-inspiring  words,  say  'terri- 
bly,' not  'most  terrible.'  But  I  do  not  like  them 
at  all  in  ordinary  conversation.  They  are  quite 
unnecessary.  There  is  nothing  'terrible'  nor 
'awful,'  to  my  mind,  except  the  Day  of  Judg- 
ment." 

"Well,  your  hair  is  very  straight  indeed  to- 
night, grandpapa,"  said  Elspeth  obediently. 

"It  will  always  be  straight  until  the  end  of  the 
chapter,  I  fear." 


134  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

"Was  it  always  quite  straight  when  you  were 
a  little  boy?" 

"Always." 

"Did  your  mother  never  crimp  it?" 

"No." 

"How  nice  for  you.  Then  you  never  knew 
what  ruggy-tuggy  hair  was,  like  mine?" 

"No,  never." 

"But  you  do  like  curly  hair  best,  don't  you?" 
she  wheedled,  drawing  closer  to  him  and  bobbing 
her  curls  in  his  face. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  he  said,  laying  an  affectionate  hand 
on  her  head.  "Your  mother  had  curls,  and  your 
grandmother — that  other  Elspeth." 

"And  the  Laird,"  added  she.  "Then  you'll 
let  me  curl  yours  early  to-night,  won't  you,  grand- 
papa, dear?  And  you'll  go  to  bed  in  your  pa- 
pers?" 

The  Elder  shook  his  head. 

"I  couldn't  do  that.  What  would  Mrs.  Mc- 
Intyre  say  when  she  came  in  to  prayers  to  see  me 
with  my  hair  in  papers?" 

And  he  smiled  at  the  thought  of  his  prim, 
rather  stiffly-starched  Highland  housekeeper  find- 
ing him  in  such  a  plight. 

"Well,  I'll  do  it  up  in  two  rows  then  to-night, 


GRANDFATHER,  THE  ELDER     135 

tighter  than  I  did  last  week,  and  let  it  have  as 
long  as  it  can." 

"First  of  all,  I  think,"  said  grandfather,  "we'll 
have  that  Psalm  of  yours,  or  you  won't  know  it 
for  Janet  to-morrow,  and  you'll  start  the  week 
with  whippings  again,  and  that  would  be  a  pity. 
Now,  don't  drone  it,  for  I  cannot  stand  dron- 
ing. We'll  have  you  taught  elocution  by  and 
by." 

"What  is  that?" 

"You'll  find  out  presently.     Now  then." 

She  repeated  her  Psalm  two  or  three  times  be- 
fore she  pleased  him.  He  was  so  very  particular, 
and  it  was  difficult  to  stop  the  familiar  droning 
as  taught  by  Janet.  Then  he  asked  her  all  the 
commandments,  and  she  finished  up  very  hur- 
riedly with; 

"Now,  grandpapa,  for  the  papers." 

"Not  yet,"  he  evaded.  "Wait  till  the  gas  is 
lit  and  the  blinds  down.  People  can  see  me  from 
the  road.  You  can  amuse  yourself  with  the 
things  in  the  table  drawer  for  a  little." 

There  was  not  much  in  the  table  drawer,  but 
anything  can  be  a  treasure  to  a  child.  An  old 
cloth  map  of  London,  a  pair  of  blunt  compasses, 
a  copy  of  the  gospel  of  St.  John  in  raised  type 


136  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

for  the  blind,  and  a  box  of  coloured  wafers,  such 
as  had  been  in  use  before  the  days  of  adhesive 
envelopes,  were  all  deeply  interesting  to  Elspeth. 
A  strange  collection  surely.  She  took  out  the 
book  in  raised  type  and  went  to  her  grandfather 
to  blindfold  her  with  his  pocket  handkerchief. 
Then  she  spelt  some  of  the  words,  slowly  and  with 
difficulty,  feeling  each  letter  out  with  her  fingers. 

"Well,"  she  said  at  last,  with  a  sigh.  "I 
wouldn't  be  blind  for  anything.  It  is  such  slow 
work.  Now  you  read,  grandpapa." 

He  laid  the  book  on  his  knee  and  closed  his 
eyes.  Then  passing  his  fingers  rapidly  over  the 
raised  letters,  he  read  in  the  swift  and  easy  man- 
ner of  the  educated  blind. 

"Oh,  you're  just  wonderful,  grandpapa,  you're 
so  clever,"  Elspeth  said  with  great  admiration. 
"How  long  were  you  blind*?" 

"I  was  blind  for  three  years,"  he  replied,  "and 
for  a  long  time  after  that  was  not  allowed  to  read 
any  books." 

"It  was  chicken-pox  made  you  blind,  wasn't 
it'?" 

"No,  it  was  the  smallpox.  My  father  died  of 
it  and  I  became  blind." 

"Is  it  worse   than  chicken-pox*?"    asked  Els- 


GRANDFATHER,  THE  ELDER     137 

peth,  with  a  lively  recollection  of  having  it  on  her 
head  and  of  the  Dragon's  rough  comb  ploughing 
through  her  hair. 

"Oh,  yes,  much  worse.  There  is  not  much 
smallpox  now,  thank  God!  When  I  was  young 
nearly  everybody  you  met  was  pitted  with  it  or 
disfigured  in  some  way  or  other." 

"Then  you  were  blind  and  had  to  learn  to  read 

like  this.  And  a  clever  doctor  came " 

prompted  Elspeth,  who  had  heard  it  all  a  hun- 
dred times  before. 

"And  a  clever  doctor  came  and  said  he  thought 
he  could  operate  and  restore  my  sight.  And  he 
did  so.  My  mother  held  my  hand  all  the  time. 
There  was  no  chloroform  in  those  days,"  said 
grandfather,  with  a  shudder.  "But  I  have  never 
seen  very  well  with  one  of  my  eyes." 

Elspeth  patted  his  hand  sympathetically. 
"Never  mind,  grandpapa,"  she  said,  "you  can  see 
better  with  your  one  good  eye  than  lots  of  people 
can  with  two.  Janet  says  I  can  see  through  a 
deal  door  with  mine,  and  I  am  sure  you  see  as 
well  as  I  do." 

Her  grandfather  laughed. 

There  was  a  slight  diversion  here,  as  Mrs.  Mc- 
Intyre  came  in  to  light  the  gas  and  pull  down  the 


138  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

blinds.  Grandfather  gave  her  an  order,  to  which 
she  replied  in  Gaelic,  having,  as  she  expressed  it, 
"fery  little  English." 

When  she  had  gone  Elspeth  jumped  up  hastily. 

"Now,  grandpapa,  quick,  the  papers." 

"Oh,  dear,  I  thought  you  had  forgotten,"  said 
the  victim.  But  he  meekly  produced  from  his 
coat-tail  pocket,  where,  by  the  way,  they  had  been 
secreted  all  the  time,  a  small  packet  of  curl-pa- 
pers and  an  old-fashioned  pocket-comb  in  a  sha- 
green case. 

"You  are  a  most  self-willed  girl,  I  think,"  he 
said,  as  she  climbed  up  on  the  arm  of  his  chair 
and  tucked  his  big  handkerchief  round  his  neck, 
after  the  manner  of  the  professional  barber. 

"Two  rows  to-night,  and  as  tight  as  I  can 
screw  them,"  replied  the  tyrant  firmly.  "Your 
hair  has  just  got  to  be  curly  to-night,  whether  it 
likes  it  or  not." 

Grandfather  took  his  spectacles  off  and  laid 
them  in  his  Bible  for  a  marker.  He  closed  his 
eyes,  and,  sighing  slightly,  leant  back  and  sur- 
rendered himself  into  the  hands  of  the  skilled 
operator,  who  had  been  practising  on  her  dolls  all 
the  week. 

It  was  done  at  last.     Two  rows,  tightly  screwed 


GRANDFATHER,  THE  ELDER     139 

all  round  the  venerable  head,  curl-papers  sticking 
out  like  little  horns  in  all  directions.  Grand- 
father's eyes  looked  strained  with  the  tightness  of 
them  above  his  ears. 

"It  is  not  very  tight  here,  is  it,  grandpapa?" 
asked  the  hairdresser,  patting  his  head  and  peep- 
ing round  into  his  face. 

"No— no,"  said  he  guardedly,  "not  very." 

"Rags  would  be  ever  so  much  softer  for  you, 
and  I  could  tie  them.  I  wouldn't  Heed  to  twist 
them  so  tight.  Janet  often  gives  me  rags  for  my 
dolls'  hair.  I  think  I'll  ask  her  to  give  me  some 
for  yours." 

"No,  no  no"  said  grandfather  emphatically. 
"That  you  certainly  shall  not." 

"Well,  then,  I  am  afraid  you'll  just  have  to 
grin  and  bear  it.  That  is  what  Janet  says  to  me 
when  my  hair  is  tuggy.  You  can  put  your  glasses 
on  now  and  read,  if  you  like,  and  I'll  go  and  play 
with  the  map.  I  want  your  hair  to  be  as  curly 
to-night  as  the  Laird's." 

It  is  rather  difficult  to  adjust  spectacles  on  the 
top  of  stiff  curl-papers,  but  at  last  grandfather 
managed  it  and  pretended  to  read,  keeping  his 
eyes  fixed,  however,  on  the  child,  wondering  what- 
ever she  was  doing  with  the  map. 


140  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

A  map  is  a  fine  thing  for  the  imagination. 
This  must  have  been  a  very  old  one,  for,  although 
it  showed  miles  upon  miles  of  the  streets  of  Lon- 
don town,  there  were  many  green  oases  in  the 
suburbs  which  Elspeth  could  not  find  when  she 
looked  for  them  in  reality.  Kensington  was  the 
old  Kensington  of  Miss  Thackeray,  full  of  coun- 
try mansions  with  walled-in  gardens  and  pleas- 
aunces.  Primrose  Hill  showed  green  fields  dotted 
with  trees,  full  apparently  of  blossom,  where  one 
might  seek,  and  perchance  even  find,  the  primroses 
which  gave  it  its  name.  Spring  Gardens  appeared 
to  be  really  gardens.  The  Round  Pond  and  the 
Serpentine  looked  very  blue  on  the  map,  in  those 
other  gardens  which  Peter  Pan  has  claimed  now 
for  his  very  own. 

Elspeth  ran  round  and  round  them  with  her 
father  after  her — figuratively  speaking.  When 
the  compasses  were  folded  up,  and  trotted  on 
"their  knees,"  as  Elspeth  expressed  it,  they  were 
herself.  When  they  strode  along  on  their  blunt 
points,  taking  mighty  strides,  they  were  her 
father.  If  they  stopped  at  the  corner  of  a  road 
in  the  West  End — it  was  always  near  where  the 
Queen  lived — he  had  lost  her  and  was  asking  a 
policeman,  "Have  you  seen  my  little  girl  any- 


GRANDFATHER,  THE  ELDER     141 

where?"  Then  you  saw  him  hurrying  in  what- 
ever direction  the  policeman  said. 

If  you  saw  the  compasses  on  their  knees  mak- 
ing lowly — if  rather  stiff — genuflexions  towards 
the  roadway,  the  Queen  was  passing,  and  was  stop- 
ping her  carriage  to  inquire; 

"Who  is  that  little  Scotch  girl  with  the  auburn 
curls'?"  (The  Queen  would  never  be  so  rude 
as  to  catch  the  wrong  tint.)  "Would  she  like  to 
come  and  see  my  dolls' -house  in  Kensington 
Palace?" 

Of  course  she  would. 

Then  hand  in  hand,  Elspeth  and  her  father 
would  walk  meekly  and  humbly,  as  became  loyal 
and  dutiful  subjects,  past  the  sentries,  the  Queen 
having  driven  in  first  with  a  haughty  wave  of  her 
hand,  directing,  "Allow  these  people  to  pass. 
They  are  my  guests." 

Grandfather  watched  the  child  playing  with 
the  compasses  for  a  long  time.  He  said,  "Ex- 
traordinary," to  himself  once  or  twice.  He  was 
practical  and  matter-of-fact,  and  had  never  known 
what  it  was  to  be  troubled  (or  gifted)  with  an 
imagination  in  his  whole  life. 

Then  his  eyes  fell  upon  his  Bible  with  the 
recollection  of  Whose  holy  day  it  was,  and  soon 


142  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

he  had  forgotten  the  unwonted  discomfort  of  his 
head  and  was  deep  in  the  woes  of  the  minor 
prophets. 

Time  passed.  Both  were  absorbed.  The  one 
in  the  past,  the  other  in  visions  of  a  golden  future, 
when  the  door  opened  quietly  and  Elspeth's  father 
walked  in.  Neither  of  them  had  heard  his  quiet 
step. 

Grandfather  rose,  smiling  and  hospitable,  hold- 
ing out  his  hand  in  welcome.  Not  until  his  son- 
in-law  burst  out  into  an  uncontrollable  fit  of 
laughter  did  he  remember  the  condition  of  his 
head.  Then  the  old  man  tore  at  his  hair,  his  face 
crimson  with  shame  and  annoyance. 

"This  bairn!  this  bairn!"  he  cried.  "She'll  be 
the  unmanning  of  me.  Come  and  help,  Elspeth, 
you  little  monkey.  Mrs.  Mclntyre  will  be  in 
directly  with  the  supper." 

But  wicked  Elspeth  shook  her  head  and  disap- 
peared under  the  table.  Grandfather  pulled  and 
tugged  at  his  tightly-twisted  curl-papers  and 
trampled  them  fiercely  underfoot.  Two  still  re- 
mained, twisted  and  entangled  with  silver  hairs, 
over  his  right  ear,  when  Mrs.  Mclntyre  entered 
with  the  supper  tray.  Grandfather  covered  them 
with  his  hand,  flung  himself  into  his  armchair, 


GRANDFATHER,  THE  ELDER     143 

and  leant  hurriedly  against  the  embroidered  bell- 
rope  hanging  on  the  wall,  in  deep  dejection. 

The  Doctor's  Senior  Elder  on  a  Sabbath  night ! 

Mrs.  Mclntyre,  a  grave,  elderly  widow,  in 
black,  with  a  white  cap  edged  with  crimped  frills, 
tied  neatly  in  a  muslin  bow  under  her  chin,  and 
the  black  velvet  widow's  band  lying  across  her 
smooth  grey  hair,  moved  quietly  round  the  table 
arranging  plates  and  glasses.  Elspeth's  father 
addressed  a  pleasant  remark  or  two  to  her,  which 
she  answered  in  her  soft  Highland  tones. 

Grandfather  pressed  his  head  firmly  against 
the  bell-rope  and  gazed  moodily  into  the  fire. 
His  hair  was  distinctly  crimpy  all  round  to-night. 
The  hairdresser  had  done  her  work  well.  There 
was  something  to  show  for  all  the  discomfort  he 
had  endured. 

At  last  the  housekeeper  looked  straight  at  him, 
and  addressed  a  question  to  him  which  required  a 
direct  answer. 

"If  you  please,  will  you  hef  toddy  or  negus  to- 
night, sir?" 

He  replied  without  looking  round,  holding  his 
head  stiffly  on  one  side. 

"Toddy — negus — toddy — oh,  whatever  you 
have."  The  last,  in  despair,  to  his  son-in-law. 


144  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

The  younger  man  answered,  to  cover  his  con- 
fusion, "We'll  have  toddy  to-night,  thank  you, 
Mrs.  Mclntyre."  His  own  lips  were  twitching, 
and  smothered  giggles  came  from  under  the  table. 

"Now,  Elspeth,  come  out  at  once,"  her  father 
said,  as  soon  as  the  housekeeper  had  left  the 
room,  "and  take  the  papers  out  of  your  grand- 
papa's hair." 

"I  do  not  know  what  the  Doctor  would  say  to 
me,"  said  Grandfather,  the  Elder,  rather  ruefully, 
trying  to  flatten  out  his  frizzed  white  hair  with 
his  hand,  while  the  curl-papers  which  he  had  been 
trampling  on  blazed  merrily  in  the  fire. 

"And  I  don't  know  what  Janet  would  say 
either,  which  is  much  more  to  the  point,"  said 
the  younger  man  significantly.  "I  think  I  shall 
have  to  tell  her  what  goes  on  here  on  Sunday 
evenings  with  you  two." 

"Oh,  no,  no,"  cried  Elspeth,  clambering  up  on 
his  knee  and  kissing  him. 

"You're  just  a  spoilt  girl,  that's  what  you  are. 
And  I  don't  know  which  of  us  spoils  you  the 
most." 

But  Elspeth  soon  settled  that  question. 

"Grandpapa  does,  of  course"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  X 

A    KNIGHT    ERRANT 

ELSPETH  first  fell  under  the  spell  of  a 
very  interesting  and  magnetic  personality 
at  the  mature  age  of  four-and-a-half. 

The  kind  nurse  and  foster-mother,  who  had 
brought  her  up  from  her  birth,  having  gone  out  to 
America  with  her  own  husband  and  child,  the 
Dragon  had  a  relay  of  nursemaids  who  had  given 
her  much  trouble. 

"I  suppose  it  is  having  no  lady  in  the  house," 
she  said,  at  last  appealing  to  her  master,  "they 
take  advantage  of  me  because  they  think  I  am 
just  a  servant  like  themselves.  I  really  think  I 
could  manage  the  child  better  by  myself,  if  she 
could  just  be  occupied  for  a  few  hours  in  the 
mornings  while  I  am  busy,  to  keep  her  out  of 
mischief.  I  have  plenty  of  time  to  take  her  out 
•walks  in  the  afternoons." 

So  her  master,  after  thinking  it  over  a  little 
and  consulting  with  grandfather,  walked  up  the 
square  one  evening  to  the  house  at  the  corner, 

J45 


146  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

where  a  brass  plate  on  the  gate  announced  that 
it  was: — 

"The  Misses  Stewarts'  Select  Seminary  for 
Young  Ladies." 

In  small  letters  in  the  corner  there  was  the  word 
"Juniors."  For  the  young  ladies  were  very 
junior  indeed. 

Grandfather  also  walked  up  later  the  same 
evening  and  had  a  talk  with  the  two  ladies. 

"If  her  father  decides  to  send  my  little  grand- 
child to  you,"  he  said  to  Miss  Georgina  Stewart, 
the  mild,  sweet-faced  elder  sister  who  taught 
sewing  and  embroidery;  "I  do  not  wish  her  to 
be  overworked  at  the  sewing-class  with  needle- 
work. I  always  feel  with  great  regret  that  her 
mother  sewed  too  much.  She  would  have  been 
stronger  had  she  not  sat  sewing  and  embroider- 
ing so  continually  as  she  did,  and  had  gone  out 
more  into  the  open  air." 

Miss  Georgina  smiled,  and  promised  that  the 
child  should  not  be  overworked  with  needlework 
while  in  their  care. 

It  was  all  settled  later,  and  Elspeth  started 
her  schooldays  one  bright,  clear  morning  in 
September. 

Nobody    called    it   a   Kindergarten,    or   any 


A  KNIGHT  ERRANT  147 

other  such  deceptive  name.  You  went  to  the 
Misses  Stewarts',  even  at  the  age  of  four-and- 
a-half  (they  took  no  young  lady  over  eight), 
for  undisguised  learning.  You  learned  the  three 
R's,  you  inked  your  fingers,  and  were  smartly 
rapped  over  the  knuckles  for  it  by  Miss  Maria. 
You  learned  to  hem  pocket-handkerchiefs  under 
Miss  Georgina's  gentler  tuition,  with  hot,  sticky 
needles,  and  thread  that  turned  dirty  in  no  time, 
and  you  left  blood  tracks  all  the  way  along  the 
hem,  so  that  you  could  be  recognised  by  your 
trail,  so  to  speak.  You  knitted  cotton  garters 
which  were  interminable  for  length,  and  you 
crocheted  cotton  mats  which  were  absolutely  of  no 
use  whatever,  except  for  slipping  about  on  wash- 
stands  and  endangering  the  crockery.  You 
worked  kettle-holders  in  little  dabs  and  squares 
and  triangles  of  coloured  wool,  which  vanished 
on  their  completion,  and  reappeared  on  the  last 
day  of  the  term,  so  magnificent  with  velveteen 
backs  and  brilliant  loops  of  ribbon  or  cord,  that 
you  did  not  recognise  your  own  handiwork,  but 
had  to  be  introduced  to  it  again.  And  if  Miss 
Stewart's  ancient  method  was  a  somewhat  labor- 
ious fashion  of  learning  to  read  and  write,  with 
no  cunning  devices  of  word-building  and  such- 


148  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

like,  it  was  a  very  good  training  in  patience  and 
perseverance,  and  helped  to  form  stronger  char- 
acters by  and  by. 

Elspeth's  first  schoolday  being  on  a  Monday 
morning,  the  Dragon  was  too  busy  to  take  her 
up  to  school  herself.  She  pinned  a  little  red 
shawl  of  Rob  Roy  tartan  (which  was  most  unbe- 
coming to  her  complexion)  carefully  across  her 
chest,  and  put  on  her  hat  for  her.  Then  she 
watched  her  walk  up  alone  from  their  own  gate 
at  the  foot  of  the  square  until  she  turned  into 
Miss  Stewart's  at  the  top  corner,  nodding  her 
head  encouragingly  with  rapid  nods  for  her  to 
go  on,  whenever  the  child  turned  round  to  look 
wistfully  back. 

Elspeth,  very  puffed  up  and  inflated  outside 
with  her  own  importance  at  being  a  schoolgirl, 
very  trembling  and  quivering  in  that  inner 
Elspeth  which  nobody  saw  and  few  guessed 
anything  about,  walked  somewhat  slowly  and 
reluctantly.  She  carried  a  brand-new  pair  of 
strap  shoes  buttoned  together  over  one  arm,  and 
on  the  other  a  new  school-bag,  neatly  made  of 
crimson  baize  with  a  handle  of  plaited  black 
braid.  Inside,  if  you  could  have  looked,  you 
would  have  seen  a  little  new  reading-book  of  grey 


A  KNIGHT  ERRANT  149 

linen.  (They  never  professed  to  teach  you 
"without  tears."  It  would  have  been  false  if 
they  had.)  And  on  the  cover,  neatly  written  in 
the  Dragon's  best  round  hand,  in  the  same  way 
as  her  own  mother  had  written  her  name  at  the 
beginning  of  her  own  schooldays  some  forty  years 
before  (for  the  Dragon  too  had  been  a  child  once, 
however  difficult  it  was  to  believe  it)  was  the 
name : — 

"Elspeth  Arnot.     Her  book." 

There  was  also  a  little  square  of  canvas,  bound 
round  with  white  tape,  with  a  wool-needle  in  it 
(Miss  Georgina  provided  the  gaily-coloured 
wools  for  the  geometrical  patterns),  and  another 
small  and  dainty  bag  made  of  pale  blue  silk. 
That  was  to  hold  the  tickets  which  Miss  Maria 
gave  out  at  the  conclusion  of  every  scholastic 
day,  when  you  dropped  your  parting  curtsey  to 
her  at  the  schoolroom  door.  The  precious 
tickets,  with  good,  bad,  or  middling,  written  on 
them,  according  to  your  behaviour,  or  sins  of 
omission  and  commission.  Woe  betide  you  if 
you  had  lost  any  of  them  when  Miss  Maria  added 
them  up  on  Fridays !  And  woe  betide  Elspeth  in 
the  days  to  come  when  the  Dragon  found  a 
"middling"  one  in  the  blue  silk  bag! 


150  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

Elspeth  passed  inside  the  Misses  Stewarts' 
formidable  iron  gate  with  a  tremulous  wave  of 
her  hand  to  the  familiar  figure,  standing  a  little 
patch  of  pale  colour  in  her  neat  working  dress 
of  lilac  print,  with  the  strings  of  her  frilled 
morning  cap  flying  out  behind  her  in  the  breeze, 
at  the  foot  of  the  square.  The  Dragon  gave  an 
answering  wave  and  ran  back  to  her  work. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  she's  gone,"  she  said.  "I 
really  thought  she  was  going  to  run  back." 

But  to  see  a  child  go  in  at  a  gate,  and  to  be 
quite  sure  it  has  reached  its  destination,  are  two 
vastly  different  matters. 

Elspeth  walked  bravely  up  the  wide  gravel 
path,  and  clambered  up  the  front  steps,  holding 
on  to  the  iron  railings,  her  heart  thumping 
furiously  with  each  step.  She  looked  round  fear- 
fully when  she  reached  the  top.  No  one  was  to 
be  seen.  On  turning  her  attention  to  the  door, 
she  found  to  her  horror  that  the  knocker  was  be- 
yond her  reach.  She  tried  to  turn  the  door- 
handle. It  was  a  fixture,  a  mere  ornament,  not 
meant  for  use.  Then  she  tried  to  reach  the  bell. 
By  dint  of  jumping  high  she  could  just  touch  it. 
She  laid  down  her  bag  and  shoes  and  jumped  as 
high  as  she  could,  trying  to  reach  it  enough  to 


A  KNIGHT  ERRANT  151 

hold  on  to  it.  In  the  middle  of  her  fifth  useless 
jump  she  heard  the  sound  of  unmistakable  giggles, 
and,,  looking  down,  saw  a  cluster  of  little  faces 
watching  her  in  great  merriment  from  a  basement 
window. 

That  was  enough.  She  jumped  no  more,  but, 
leaning  as  far  out  of  their  sight  as  she  could, 
timidly  rapped  at  the  door  for  admission  with  her 
small  knuckles  again  and  again.  No  one  came. 
She  heard  the  tramp  of  children's  feet  far  away 
in  the  distance  and  the  merry  hum  and  chatter  of 
many  little  voices.  There  was  a  lull,  and  then 
the  sound  of  the  rising  of  an  infant's  morning 
hymn.  She  was  too  late.  School  had  begun. 
The  Dragon  had  been  telling  her  only  that  very 
morning  of  the  enormity  of  the  sin  of  playing 
truant,  and  here  she  was  doing  it  on  her  very  first 
day.  She  could  bear  no  more,  her  overcharged 
heart  was  bursting.  Tears  rolled  slowly  down 
her  cheeks.  They  trickled  down  the  Rob  Roy 
tartan  shawl  to  her  new  cambric  pinafore.  They 
splashed  on  the  freshly  washed  step.  It  had 
rained  in  the  night,  and  soot  had  fallen  on  the 
railings.  She  laid  her  face  on  them  and  sobbed 
as  if  her  heart  would  break.  Life  could  have 
no  worse  horrors  for  her  than  this.  She  had  been 


152  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

early  taught  self-restraint,  so  she  seldom  cried 
aloud,  like  other  children,  unless  she  was  in  a 
temper.  So  now  she  sobbed  quietly  and  unceas- 
ingly, deep  convulsive  sobs,  coming  straight  up 
from  a  very  broken  heart,  which  shook  her  whole 
body,  rubbing  her  sooty  hands  all  over  her  face 
meanwhile. 

Surely  fair  lady  was  never  in  greater  plight 
when  knight-errant  appeared  on  the  scene. 

It  was  Hendry,  swinging  his  strap-full  of  books 
and  whistling  a  merry  tune.  He  was  late  too, 
and  was  hurrying.  His  High  School  bell — that 
High  School  which  now  holds  his  name  in  venera- 
tion as  one  of  the  most  illustrious  of  its  many 
gifted  scholars — was  ringing  its  last  tocsin-like 
notes  away  far  up  the  hill  amongst  the  trees. 

Elspeth  saw  him  coming  and  held  her  breath. 
He  was  one  of  Freddy's  big  brothers  and  she 
knew  him  very  well  by  sight,  but  hitherto  had 
never  exchanged  a  personal  word  with  him.  And 
she  was  terrified  of  boys  in  general  and  of  big 
boys  in  particular. 

He  saw  her  as  he  passed  the  gate  and  stopped 
short. 

"Hallo!     What's  this?"  he  called  out. 

There  Was  no  answer.     Between  terror  and 


A  KNIGHT  ERRANT  153 

grief  the  lady  was  speechless.  Her  shy,  sooty 
face  was  hidden  behind  her  pinafore. 

He  swung  the  gate  open  and  ran  up  the  gravel 
path,  and  with  two  flying  bounds  was  up  the 
steps  at  her  side. 

"Hallo,  Elspeth!  What  are  you  doing  here?' 
he  said  gently.  "Can't  you  get  in?  Have  you 
come  to  begin  school  at  Miss  Stewart's?  Why 
ever  did  they  let  you  come  by  yourself1?  You've 
come  to  the  wrong  door.  The  children  go  round 
the  corner  to  the  other  gate  at  the  side.  They 
don't  come  to  the  front  door  at  all.  Oh, 
don't  cry  again,"  he  added  hastily.  "See,  I'll 
ring  the  bell  for  you  and  knock  loud.  I  can't 
stop  to  see  you  in,  for  I  am  late  myself.  I  shall 
be  locked  out." 

The  High  School  bell  tolled  its  last  notes  as 
he  spoke.  But  he  stopped  to  ring  a  terrific  peal 
on  the  bell  and  to  give  a  thundering  knock  at  the 
door  before  he  ran  off.  It  would  not  have  been 
Hendry  to  have  left  any  one  in  distress,  even  if  he 
were  caned  for  it.  He  had  only  gone  a  step  or 
two  when  he  ran  back  again. 

"See,  Elspeth,  dear," — that  word  which  always 
comes  so  slowly  from  Scottish  lips — "do  you  like 
chocolates?  You  can  have  my  piece." 


154  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

He  was  off  again  before  she  could  thank  him. 

When  the  servant  opened  the  door  a  few  mo- 
ments later  it  was  to  find  a  tear-bedewed  maiden 
standing  there,  albeit  with  a  little  wan  smile  on 
her  sooty  face  and  a  long  stick  of  chocolate  cream 
in  its  magic  silver  wrapping  firmly  clasped  in  her 
hand.  A  red-letter  day,  indeed,  for  Elspeth  had 
never  tasted  chocolate  in  the  whole  course  of  her 
short  life  before.  It  was  an  introduction  to 
Hendry  and  the  evanescent  joys  of  chocolate 
cream  at  the  same  time. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  Hendry's  magne- 
tism for  her,  sealed  and  ratified  with  a  stick  of 
chocolate  cream.  After  that,  every  time  she  went 
to  his  home,  which  she  always  called  "Freddy's 
house,"  it  was  with  the  shy  hope  that  she  would 
see  again  the  kind  big  boy  who  had  befriended  her 
in  her  sorrow.  Sometimes  she  did  see  him. 
As  she  played  in  the  large  deserted  nursery  in  his 
home — for  the  boys  had  all  grown  out  of  it,  and 
the  girls  were  young  ladies  now,  Freddy  had  been 
the  little  Benjamin  of  his  family — with  the  kind 
nurse  sewing  beside  the  window,  Hendry  some- 
times came  bounding  in.  Once  or  twice  he  rode 
her  on  his  back  round  the  garden,  and  took  her 


A  KNIGHT  ERRANT  155 

to  see  the  peaches  growing  in  the  glass-houses. 
Another  joyous  red-letter  day  he  turned  the  tap 
on  in  the  bath  and  gave  her  his  boats  to  play  with, 
showing  her  how  to  blow  hurricanes  with  the  bel- 
lows. What  a  day  of  gales  and  wet  pinafores  that 
was!  All  these  little  kindnesses  on  Hendry's 
part  won  Elspeth's  lonely  little  heart,  as  he  was  to 
win  the  hearts  of  thousands  of  his  fellow-men  in 
after  years. 

Many  things  have  been  written  about  :that 
wonderful  magnetic  personality.  Few,  I  think, 
have  written  very  much  about  him  as  a  boy.  It 
was  only  as  a  boy  that  Elspeth  knew  him  and 
loved  him,  but  years  afterwards,  when  far  away 
from  old  scenes  and  friends,  she  read  of  his  pre- 
mature death,  no  heart  grieved  more  truly  and 
deeply  than  hers  over  this  much-admired  friend 
of  her  childhood. 

The  obituary  notices  did  not  spell  his  name  as 
I  have  done.  That  was  the  Dragon's  pronuncia- 
tion and  Elspeth's.  There  was  a  word  put  be- 
fore it,  and  a  surname  after  it.  But  it  was  the 
same  Hendry. 

I  saw  his  photograph  only  the  other  day  on 
the  paper  cover  of  a  cheap  edition  of  one  of  his 


156  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

books,  and  gazed  once  more  at  the  kind  hazel 
eyes  and  wealth  of  wavy,  auburn  hair,  which  I 
doubt  if  anybody  had  even  been  so  unkind  as  to 
call  "red"  in  the  whole  history  of  his  happy  life. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    LONDON    LADIES 

IT  was  a  Sabbath  to  be  remembered.  Outside, 
the  north  wind  howled  and  shrieked  and  blew 
a  perfect  blizzard  of  snow  against  the  bedroom 
window  and  down  the  chimney.  Elspeth's  father 
had  risen  and  pulled  the  blind  up  so  that  they 
could  lie  and  watch  the  whirling  eddies  of  snow. 
Certainly  there  would  be  no  church  for  either 
Elspeth  or  the  Dragon  that  day,  unless  the 
weather  improved.  Janet  would  not  risk  being 
lost  in  a  snow-wreath  on  her  way  to  hers.  So, 
as  there  was  no  hurry  to  get  up,  her  master  had 
sent  his  shaving  water  downstairs  again  when  it 
was  brought  up,  and  now  he  and  Elspeth  were  in- 
dulging in  the  luxury  of  "a  long  lie"  in  the  shape 
of  half  an  hour  extra  in  bed  together. 

Elspeth  lay  snugly  cuddled  with  her  father's 
arm  round  her  and  her  hand  tucked  in  his.  She 
was  in  a  delicate  grey  and  green  arbour.  The 
soft  silk  damask  curtains  of  the  Arabian  bed- 

157 


158  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

stead  formed  a  tent.  The  pattern  on  them  was 
of  vine-leaves  and  tendrils,  with  clusters  of 
grapes  festooned  all  over  in  tender  shades  of  grey 
and  green,  which  lent  a  Southern  touch  at  once. 
Sometimes  Elspeth  was  in  the  great  Sahara,  trans- 
ported thither  on  a  camel  and  was  a  dweller  in 
tents  like  the  patriarchs.  Sometimes  she  was  on 
India's  coral  strand — or  elsewhere.  Wherever 
the  magic  carpet  of  her  thoughts  transported  her. 
She  was  seldom  in  a  commonplace  bed.  She  lay 
still  now,  thinking  deeply,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on 
the  curtains. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,"  said  her  father 
suddenly. 

"I  wasn't  thinking  exactly,  father.  I  was  just 
'magining." 

"Well,  what  is  that  but  thinking?"  laughed 
her  father.  "A  penny  for  your  imaginations 
then." 

"I  thought  we  were  shipwrecked  on  a  desert 
island,"  replied  Elspeth,  who  had  been  reading 
a  child's  illustrated  edition  of  "Robinson  Crusoe." 
"We  had  been  wandering  on  the  beach  all  night 
and  had  lain  down  and  gone  to  sleep.  And  a 
gourd  had  grown  up  over  us  like  Jonah's,  only  it 
had  grapes  on  it.  That  was  all.  We  were  all 


THE  LONDON  LADIES  159 

alone,  and  all  the  world  to  each  other,"  she  con- 
cluded fervently. 

"Where  was  grandfather  and  the  Laird*?" 

"I  don't  know.  They  did  not  seem  to  be 
there.  It  was  just  you  and  me.  And  we  were 
all  the  world  to  each  other,"  she  repeated  again. 

"As  we  are,"  said  her  father. 

"And  now  I  give  you  your  penny  back,"  said 
Elspeth  gravely,  "for  you  were  thinking  too." 

"Yes,  I  was  thinking  too.  I  was  thinking  that 
my  little  girl  is  growing  up,  and  that  soon  she 
will  be  too  big  to  come  into  her  father's  bed  on 
Saturday  nights  to  sleep  with  him  any  more." 

"I  shall  never  be  too  big  for  that"  said 
Elspeth,  nestling  closer  on  his  arm. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will.  Were  you  six  or  seven 
last  birthday?" 

"I  was  seven,  father." 

"I  thought  so.  Then  we'll  have  to  see  about 
having  a  room  made  for  yourself  soon.  Your 
mother  and  I  were  going  to  have  turned  the 
large  box-room  upstairs  into  a  nursery,  had  she 
lived.  It  was  to  have  had  a  big  bow  window 
put  in  it.  I  think  we  will  have  it  made 'into  a 
room  for  you.  It  would  have  a  beautiful  view 
at  the  back.  Right  over  the  tops  of  the  houses 


160  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

to  the  river,  and  away  out  ever  so  far.  You 
might  even  be  able  to  see  the  sea  on  a  clear 
day." 

"Should  I  see  Auntie  Rosie's  cottage  and  the 
brig?' 

"Bridge,"  corrected  her  father.  "And  who, 
may  I  ask,  is  Auntie  Rose*?" 

"Why,  she  is  the  washerwoman,  father. 
Don't  you  know?" 

Her  father  shook  his  head.  He  was  not 
domesticated,  and  of  the  Dragon's  employes  he 
knew  nothing. 

"Yes,  you  will  be  able  to  see  the  bridge  from 
the  window,  and  perhaps  you  may  even  get  a 
distant  view  of  the  sea,"  he  continued.  "I  don't 
know  about  the  cottage,  for  I  don't  know  where 
it  is.  We'll  have  a  little  Arabian  bed  for  you 
like  this  that  you  are  so  fond  of,  so  that  you  may 
still  think  you  are  in  a  tent.  I  saw  some  chintz 
in  a  shop  the  other  day  that  I  thought  would 
make  very  pretty  bed-curtains  for  you.  It  had 
moss  rose-buds  and  lilies  of  the  valley  on  it. 
And  we'll  have  a  rose-bud  paper  on  the  wall  for 
a  rose-bud  girl.  The  rose  is  the  Queen  of 
Flowers." 

"That  would  be  very  nice,"  said  Elspeth.     "I 


THE  LONDON  LADIES  161 

should  like  a  pretty  room  like  that.  And  then  if 
I  was  up  there  I  could  come  creeping — creeping 
— downstairs  to  your  bed  every  morning  early 
and  Janet  would  never  know." 

Her  father  laughed,  but  soon  became  thought- 
ful again. 

"I  have  been  wondering  very  much  sometimes," 
he  said  presently,  "if  you  would  like  to  have  a 
mother.  Fathers  don't  make  very  good  mothers 
for  little  girls  when  they  are  growing  up." 

"Oh,  yes,  they  do"  said  the  child  eagerly, 
"they  make  darling  mothers.  But  I  would  like 
to  have  my  own  mother  too,"  she  added  wist- 
fully. 

"I'm  afraid  you  cannot  have  her  back  again," 
the  father  said,  with  a  sigh.  "But  there  is  such 
a  thing  as  having  another  mother,  you  know." 

Elspeth's  eyes  opened  very  round  and  wide. 

"Can  widow-men "  she  began. 

"Widowers,"  he  corrected  again. 

"Widowers — marry  again,  then*?" 

"Yes,"  responded  her  father,  "they  can." 

"Janet's  sister  is  going  to  be  married  again 
in  the  summer.  She  is  going  to  marry  the  bea- 
dle in  Mr.  Morrison's  church.  They  call  him 
'muckle  Geordie'  because  he's  so  big,"  chattered 


162  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

Elspeth,  with  little  idea  of  what  was  coming. 
"But  I  didn't  know  widow-men — widowers,  I 
mean — could  marry  again.  Then  grandpapa 
could  marry  again?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"Then,"  said  Elspeth  firmly,  "I'll  tell  him  to 
marry  Mrs.  Mclntyre  at  once.  I  told  the  Laird 
to  marry  Mistress  Kate  long  ago.  He  has  been 
an  old  bachelor  far  too  long,  but  he  hasn't  done  it 
yet.  But  grandpapa  shall  do  it  at  once." 

"I  am  afraid  he  won't  do  that,"  laughed  her 
father. 

"Grandpapa  always  does  whatever  I  tell  him," 
said  the  despot. 

"He  does  a  great  deal  that  you  tell  him,  I 
admit.  A  great  deal  too  much,  I  think.  But 
you'll  find  he  won't  do  that,  even  to  please  you." 

"And  you,  father,"  said  Elspeth,  ignoring  the 
interruption,  "you  can  marry  Janet,  if  you  like. 
Then  we  can  go  on  just  the  same." 

"But  I  am  afraid  I  should  not  want  to  marry 
Janet." 

"She'd  make  you  a  very  good  wife,  father," 
went  on  the  small  arbiter  of  destiny.  "She  can 
cook,  and  sew,  and  look  after  us  both  very  well. 
Grandpapa  says  Janet  is  a  very  thrifty  woman. 


THE  LONDON  LADIES  163 

He  says  he'll  give  her  her  due,  although  there  is 
no  love  lost  between  them." 

"Oh,  yes,  no  doubt  she  is  all  that.  But — well, 
she  is  not — not  exactly — a  lady,  is  she?" 

Elspeth  stared  aghast.     She  did  not  like  ladies. 

"Would  a  new  mother  have  to  be — a — lady?" 
she  stammered. 

"Certainly.  I  don't  think  I  should  care  to 
marry  any  one  else." 

Elspeth  drew  a  long  breath. 

"O — oh!"  she  said.  Her  mind  ran  rapidly 
over  the  circle  of  their  lady  friends.  Then  she 
laughed  gaily. 

"Why,  we  don't  know  anybody.  They're  all 
married,  father.  Except  the  Miss  Stewarts,  and 
they  are  old.  Grandpapa  says  my  mother  used 
to  go  to  their  school  when  she  was  a  little  girl  like 
me,  and  that  they  taught  her  to  sew.  So  we'll 
just  go  on  as  we  are  doing."  she  concluded,  "and 
I'll  keep  house  for  you  when  I  am  grown-up." 

Her  father  looked  a  little  embarrassed.  She 
was  making  it  difficult  for  him.  A  slight  flush 
spread  over  the  tan  of  his  manly  cheeks. 

"What  do  you  say "  he  asked;  "would  you 

like — one  of  the  London  ladies  for  a  mother?" 

Then     Elspeth's    face    fell    suddenly.     Her 


164  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

thoughts  flew  back  to  one  miserable  day  in  the 
autumn,  when,  running  hastily  in  from  morning 
school,  with  inky  face  and  dun-coloured  fingers, 
her  little  red  tartan  shawl  pinned  clumsily  across 
her  chest,  her  hat  on  anyhow,  and  her  hair  blow- 
ing in  frowsy  tangles  in  every  direction,  the  Dra- 
gon had  sharply  told  her  that  she  was  wanted  up- 
stairs in  the  drawing-room  immediately. 

"Am  I  not  to  wash  my  face  and  hands,  or  have 
my  hair  tidied,  or  anything,  first1?"  she  had  asked, 
and  had  been  sharply  answered  "No." 

She  had  gone  upstairs  just  as  she  was,  and  in 
horror-stricken  silence  had  there  been  introduced 
by  her  father  to  two  very  fashionable  strange 
ladies,  who  were  seated  on  the  drawing-room 
sofa. 

"This  is  my  little  girl,"  said  he,  drawing  her 

forward.  "But  why "  he  asked,  and  when  he 

drew  his  bushy,  dark  eyebrows  close  together  like 
that  it  showed  that  he  was  greatly  annoyed,  "why 
has  Janet  allowed  you  to  come  upstairs  so  un- 
tidy?' 

He  hastily  unpinned  her  shawl  and  took  off 
her  hat  himself,  and  pushed  her  forward,  looking 
quite  cross. 

The   ladies   seated  on  the  sofa  smiled,   and 


THE  LONDON  LADIES  165 

greeted  her  with  soft  words  spoken  with  a  finick- 
ing English  accent.  But  she  heard  the  elder 
of  the  two  whisper  the  word  "terrible"  to  the 
younger,  and  the  younger  murmur  two  words  in 
French  in  reply.  They  were  drawing-room  ladies 
of  the  very  worst  and  most  fussy  and  particular 
type. 

They  were  dressed  in  simple  printed  muslins, 
and  had  large  flat  floppy  hats  with  long  ostrich 
feathers  round  them,  but  it  was  the  simplicity 
which  costs  much  money.  Their  muslin  skirts 
gave  out  the  rustle  of  silk  foundations  worn  un- 
derneath whenever  they  moved,  and  their  gloves, 
of  the  palest  lavender  tint,  were  so  spotless  and 
delicate  that  the  marks  of  Elspeth's  grubby  fingers 
showed  plainly  where  she  had  touched  them  when 
she  shook  hands.  They  were  very  much  alike, 
only  the  younger  had  a  curl  dangling  gracefully 
over  one  shoulder.  The  other  had  none. 

"Now,  we'll  have  some  music,"  said  her  father, 
with  alacrity,  unlocking  the  piano  and  passing  his 
handkerchief  lightly  over  the  keys.  "We  do  not 
often  have  such  a  treat,  and  my  little  girl  inherits 
a  great  love  of  music.  Now,  Miss  Lilian,  I  have 
had  the  piano  tuned  on  purpose  for  you." 

The  elder  of  the  two  ladies  rose  with  some 


166  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

laughing  remark.     The  younger  smilingly  drew 
the  shy,  awkward  child  beside  her  on  the  sofa. 

Then  Miss  Lilian  sang,  song  after  song,  and 
Elspeth  gazed  stiffly  at  this  stranger  turning  over 
her  mother's  music  with  careless  hand,  singing  her 
mother's  favourite  songs  with  laugh  and  merry 
remark.  She  gazed,  bewildered,  at  her  father 
too,  leaning  on  the  piano,  turning  over  the  music, 
laughing  and  joking  with  this  strange  lady,  plead- 
ing for  "just  one  more."  His  eyes  were  sparkling 
with  animation  and  pleasure,  and  he  joined  his 
rich  baritone  voice  in  a  duet  with  her  to  wind  up 
with,  murmuring  some  remark  in  an  undertone 
as  he  did  so,  a  remark  which  brought  a  very  be- 
coming blush  to  the  lady's  cheek,  and  to  which 
she  replied  by  a  gleam  of  white  teeth. 

In  vain  the  younger  lady  on  the  sofa  tried  to 
attract  the  child's  attention  to  herself,  asking  her 
about  her  lessons  and  how  many  pets  she  had. 
Elspeth  had  never  had  any  pets,  and  lessons  were 
nowhere  in  the  world  compared  to  her  father, 
whom  she  adored.  Her  eyes  remained  glued  to 
the  scene  at  the  piano. 

When  at  last  the  ladies  went  away,  her  father 
had  been  cross  with  her,  and  had  reproved  her 
rather  sharply  for  her  "bad  manners."  He  had 


THE  LONDON  LADIES  167 

also  reproved  Janet  for  letting  her  come  upstairs 
in  such  a  disreputable  state,  and  Janet  had  pursed 
up  her  lips  and  remained  in  one  of  her  tempers 
for  some  days  afterwards. 

Altogether  the  London  ladies'  visit  had  been 
by  no  means  a  pleasant  memory.  And  here  was 
her  father  asking  her  if  she  would  like  him  to 
marry  one  of  them!  He  repeated  his  question, 
after  waiting  a  little,  looking  at  her  very  seriously. 
He  evidently  meant  it. 

"Would  you  like  to  have  one  of  the  London 
ladies  for  a  mother*?" 

Elspeth  then,  seeing  that  an  answer  was  ex- 
pected of  her,  stammered  hastily; 

"Father — I  think — the  one  sitting  on  the  sofa 
was — perhaps — rather  nice." 

"They  were  both  sitting  on  the  sofa,"  he  re- 
plied blandly.  So  they  had  been  for  some  time 
before  Elspeth  appeared  on  the  scene,  and  he  had 
feasted  his  eyes  on  the  two  dainty  visions  in 
muslin  and  lace,  who  had  seemed  to  bring  a  gleam 
of  brightness  into  that  desolate  and  empty  draw- 
ing-room. 

"The  one  who  talked  to  me,  I  mean,  father; 
the  youngest  one.  The  one  with  the  curl — who 
didn't  sing  with  you." 


168  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

"Ah!  Miss  Constance.  Well,  I  fear  I  can- 
not marry  Miss  Constance.  She  is  engaged  al- 
ready, and  goes  out  to  Hong  Kong  to  her  fiance 
in  the  spring.  It  is  Miss  Lilian  I  want." 

Elspeth's  heart  sank.  It  was  evidently  all 
settled.  Gentle  and  easily  influenced  as  he  was, 
her  father  could  yet  put  his  foot  down  on  occa- 
sion. He  was  not  to  be  wheedled  or  coaxed  like 
the  Laird.  He  was  certainly  never  to  be  com- 
manded like  grandfather.  Tears  managed  him 
sometimes,  but  this  was  hardly  a  subject  for  tears. 
So  Elspeth,  with  a  sinking  heart,  felt  it  was  no  use 
saying  anything.  She  pushed  her  small  hand 
closer  into  his. 

"Are  you  going  to  marry  her,  father*?"  she 
asked,  very  simply.  And  he  answered  as  simply, 
but  with  a  smile  of  radiant  happiness  on  his  face ; 

"Yes." 

Elspeth  sighe'd  a  little  weary  sigh.  Child  as 
she  was,  she  felt  the  old  life  slipping  away  and 
would  fain  have  clung  on  to  it  with  both  hands 
if  she  could. 

But  her  father  was  speaking. 

"It  is  a  secret,"  he  said.  "We  do  not  wish  it 
talked  about.  Miss  Lilian  cannot  leave  her  par- 
ents just  after  her  sister  goes.  So  our  marriage 


THE  LONDON  LADIES  169 

will  not  be  just  yet.  I  want  you  to  promise  not 
to  tell  Janet,  for  she  might  make  it  very  unpleas- 
ant for  us  both." 

"I  won't  tell  Janet,"  said  Elspeth. 

"And  it  would  be  better  not  to  tell  grandpapa 
either.  I  will  tell  him  myself  when  the  right 
time  comes.  He  does  not  know  the  ladies  at  all, 
and  might  feel  it  a  little." 

This  promise  was  more  difficult  to  give.  For 
Elspeth  treated  the  Elder  as  a  comrade  and  con- 
fidential friend,  confiding  everything  to  him,  even 
to  the  scrapes  she  continually  got  into  both  at 
school  and  with  Janet,  well  knowing  that  they 
never  went  any  further,  for  grandfather  was  true 
as  steel. 

"Very  well,  father,"  she  said  at  last.  "I  won't 
tell  grandpapa  either — if  I  can  help  it.  And  the 
Laird?"  she  inquired. 

"The  Laird,"  laughed  her  father,  "is  snowed 
up  in  his  Highland  fastnesses.  You  are  not  like- 
ly to  see  him.  I'll  be  bound  the  snow  is  lying  in 
wreaths  up  to  his  hedges  just  now,  and  he 
is  buried  deep  in  his  Greek  and  Hebrew  lexi- 
cons." 

"It  is  a  very  big  secret,  then,  father." 

"Yes,  for  the  present,  a  very  big  secret.     She 


I7o  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

only  accepted  me  last  night,  in  a  letter — condi- 
tionally," he  added. 

He  did  not  say  what  the  conditions  were.  One 
of  them  was  that  the  child  should  be  sent  away  to 
a  boarding-school  to  be  made  fit  for  civilised  so- 
ciety. Another,  that  the  crusty,  determined-look- 
ing Dragon  should  disappear  for  ever  from  the 
family  life. 

At  this  moment  Janet  knocked  at  the  door  with 
the  hot  water  for  the  second  time,  and  Elspeth, 
carefully  enveloped  in  her  father's  big  dressing- 
gown,  went  away  to  dress  by  the  blazing  kitchen 
fire. 

It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  be  burdened  with  a 
great  and  weighty  secret,  especially  in  the  winter 
holidays  when  you  have  no  companions  to  share 
it  with.  To  be  entrusted  with  it  on  a  stormy 
Sabbath  too,  when  you  cannot  even  go  to  church 
to  take  it  off,  so  to  speak,  for  a  time,  is  worst  of 
all. 

Twenty  times  that  snowy  Sabbath  morning,  as 
Elspeth  sat  in  the  kitchen  beside  Janet  learning 
her  Psalm  and  texts,  or  singing  her  favourite 
hymns,  with  her  restless  hands  folded  in  her  lap, 
and  her  fidgety  feet  carefully  kept  off  the  spar  of 
her  chair,  was  she  on  the  point  of  telling  the  whole 


THE  LONDON  LADIES  171 

story  to  the  Dragon.  It  was  her  very  first  secret, 
and  she  found  it  a  most  intolerable  burden. 

"I  must  tell  some  one  or  I  shall  burst,"  she  said 
to  herself  at  last.  The  thought  of  her  father's 
displeasure  alone  kept  her  from  blurting  the 
whole  thing  out.  At  last  she  thought  of  a  round- 
about way. 

"Janet,"  she  began;  then  hesitated,  for  the  mere 
mention  of  the  London  ladies  always  seemed  in 
some  unaccountable  way  to  make  Janet  cross. 

"Well,"  said  the  Dragon,  "why  don't  you 
finish  saying  a  thing  when  you  begin  it*?" 

"I  was  wondering.     Do  you  think  one  of  the 

London  ladies  would  make  a "  good  mother, 

she  was  going  to  say.  But  Janet  turned  sharply 
round  from  the  kitchen  sink,  where  she  was  busy 
peeling  potatoes,  and  stopped  her  short. 

"Now,  just  you  look  here,"  said  she,  and  her 
face  was  more  flushed  and  angry  than  the  occa- 
sion warranted.  "If  you  don't  leave  off  talking 
about  those  London  ladies,  I  shall  have  to  punish 
you.  You've  done  nothing  but  talk,  talk,  talk, 
about  them — silly,  dressed-up  puppets  that  they 
are — ever  since  they  were  here.  And  if  you  think 
they'd  make  anything  for  you,  you  are  under  a  big 
mistake.  If  it  is  a  muslin  dress  like  theirs  for 


172  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

your  best  doll,  like  you  wanted,  I  doubt  if  either 
of  them  could  do  anything  so  sensible  as  make  a 
doll's  dress.  I  shouldn't  think  they  could  hold  a 
needle  in  their  hands,  let  alone  use  it.  And  you 
have  no  business  thinking  about  your  dolls  on  the 
Sabbath  Day  either." 

"It  wasn't  a  doll's  dress  I  was  wondering  if 
they  would  make,"  said  Elspeth  meekly. 

"Well,  I  don't  care  what  it  was.  Don't  you 
mention  them  to  me  again.  I  saw  them  laugh- 
ing and  giggling  when  they  went  away  that  day. 
At  you  and  your  father,  no  doubt.  I  hope  they 
never  enter  this  house  again  while  I  am  here, 
that's  all." 

So  Elspeth  subsided  hastily. 

"If  I  had  only  a  cat,"  she  whispered  to  her- 
self; "or  if  I  might  just  bring  out  Eliza  Jane 
to  tell  her,  it  wouldn't  be  so  bad.  Oh,  I  wish 
father  hadn't  told  me  about  it."  She  sighed 
heavily,  and  Janet,  turning  round  again,  softened 
when  she  saw  the  child's  wistful  little  face. 

"You  may  go  upstairs  now  and  watch  for  your 
father  coming  home  from  church,  if  you  like. 
YOU  can  put  the  table-cloth  on  for  me,  and  put 
out  the  mats  and  the  table-napkins,  and  make 
yourself  useful,"  she  said  graciously. 


THE  LONDON  LADIES  173 

Elspeth  went  away  upstairs  with  alacrity. 
When  she  had  done  these  small  duties,  and  put 
her  father's  slippers  down  to  warm  at  the  fire, 
she  gazed  out  at  the  window  on  the  spotless 
scene.  The  grey  square  was  transformed  into  a 
glistening  fairyland  of  whiteness,  the  trees  were 
all  burdened  and  bowed  down  with  their  heavy 
weight  of  spotless  snow.  Not  a  living  creature 
was  to  be  seen.  Even  the  tame  robin,  which  came 
to  the  window-sill  every  morning  at  breakfast- 
time  for  crumbs,  was  hidden  up  somewhere. 

"I  must  tell  somebody,"  she  said.  "Would 
it  be  very  wicked,  I  wonder,  to  make  up  a  doll? 
Would  God  strike  me  dead  for  breaking  the 
Sabbath  if  I  did?  Oh,  I  must  tell  somebody." 

She  listened  a  moment,  and  now  she  heard 
Janet  walking  to  and  fro  in  her  bedroom  beneath, 
dressing  herself  for  church  in  the  afternoon,  the 
snow  having  ceased  falling.  Hastily  she  snatched 
the  cushion  off  the  sofa,  wrapped  it  up  in  a 
woollen  antimacassar,  and  sat  down  with  it  in  her 
lap. 

"Oh,  Helena  Victoria  Beatrice,"  she  murmured, 
in  the  hushed  tones  of  romance,  being  greatly  en- 
amoured of  the  royal  princes  and  princesses  at 
that  time — the  youngest  of  them  in  particular — 


174  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

laying  her  cheek  against  the  cushion,  conscious 
that  she  was  imperilling  her  soul  in  this  make- 
believe.  "My  darling  own  father  is  going  to  be 
married  again,  and  I  am  not  glad.  I  can't  be 
glad.  Father  is  my  sweetheart  and  I  cannot  give 
him  up  to  any  one  else.  He  is  mine,  my  very 
own,  and  it  breaks  my  heart.  He  says  I  can  go 
halves,  but  I  can't  go  halves  with  any  one." 

She  felt  better  after  this  outburst,  and,  hear- 
ing her  father  knocking  the  snow  off  his  boots  at 
the  gate  just  then,  hastily  put  away  the  make- 
believe  doll  and  ran  to  greet  him  with  a  smiling, 
if  flushed  and  guilty,  face. 

The  longing  for  comfort  and  exchange  of  con- 
fidences overwhelmed  her  again  in  the  afternoon, 
when  she  and  her  father  were  alone.  She  crept 
close  up  to  him  and  laid  her  head  on  his  arm, 
more  than  once,  but  he  was  writing,  writing  to 
the  London  lady  all  the  time,  hurrying  to  get  his 
letter  finished  before  the  Dragon  came  home  from 
her  church,  so  that  he  need  not  meet  her  accusing 
eyes.  He,  too,  was  breaking  the  Sabbath  writing 
letters. 

Elspeth  longed  for  her  dolls  and  sighed  wearily 
through  the  long,  dreary  afternoon.  In  the  even- 
ing it  was  a  little  better,  when  she  and  her  father 


THE  LONDON  LADIES  175 

read  the  big  Bible  together  and  she  had  the  pic- 
tures to  look  at.  But  he  was  firm  in  his  refusal 
that  night  to  bring  out  her  mother's  wedding- 
cake  and  have  that  little  sacramental  service. 
(Indeed,  they  never  had  it  again  in  this  world.) 
He  also  changed  the  subject  whenever  she  began 
to  talk  about  the  London  lady,  with  whom,  to 
tell  the  truth,  he  was  a  little  annoyed.  He  had 
been  reading  her  long,  much-crossed  letter  over 
again,  and  it  had  struck  him  as  being  slightly 
dictatorial  in  its  tone. 

"When  I  think  of  your  little  girl,"  it  said, 
with  many  underlinings,  "as  I  saw  her  that  day, 
with  her  red  shawl  and  red  hair,  a  colour  I  have 
always  particularly  disliked,  as  in  my  experi- 
ence of  life  I  have  always  found  it  associated 
with  a  very  bad  temper"  (poor,  maligned,  red 
heads!)  "her  shocking  manners  and  her  deplor- 
able Scotch  accent,  I  really  feel  that  I  cannot 
marry  you.  She  looked  such  a  little  barbarian. 
But  as  for  yourself  you  know  that  I " 

He  smiled  over  the  remainder  of  the  sentence. 
The  lady  had  been  by  no  means  easy  to  win. 
Perhaps  that  was  part  of  the  attraction  to  a  man 
so  much  courted  as  he  was.  The  unconscious 
child  had  been  at  one  time  an  almost  insurmount- 


176  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

able  barrier  between  them.  A  previous  marriage 
was  bald  enough.  But  a  child!  The  lady  drew 
the  line  firmly  at  the  child.  However,  he  had 
conquered  at  last.  His  second  wooing  was 
crowned  with  success,  after  a  long  time  of  appar- 
ently fruitless  effort  on  his  part.  The  lady  was 
quite  within  her  rights  in  imposing  conditions  on 
him.  It  was  a  great  honour  that  she  should  take 
him  at  all,  for  she  was  distinctly  charming,  and 
very  clever  and  accomplished.  He  was,  more- 
over, very  much  in  love,  so  there  was  an  end  of 
it. 

But  did  she,  perhaps,  think  a  little  too  much 
of  appearances  and  the  outside  things  of  life"? 
He  was  a  simple-minded  man  himself  and  liked 
simplicity  and  naturalness  before  everything  else. 
And  was  the  child  really  so  bad  as  all  that?  He 
had  kept  glancing  at  her  from  time  to  time  while 
writing  his  reply,  and  he  thought  not.  A  little 
old-fashioned,  perhaps.  She  was  being  brought 
up  by  old-fashioned  people.  Grandfather  was 
old-fashioned.  So  was  Janet.  So  was  the  Laird. 
So,  perhaps,  also,  was  he  himself.  But  they  had 
done  their  best. 

And  as  for  her  hair,  in  his  eyes  it  was  beauti- 
ful, and  to  call  it  red  was  a  libel.  He  had  artis- 


THE  LONDON  LADIES  177 

tic  tastes,  and  it  was  the  shade  and  colour 
artists  raved  over.  Titian  would  have  painted 
it.  It  had  been  the  sun  glinting  on  her  mother's 
ringlets  of  burnished  copper  that  had  made  him 
glance  first  at  the  gentle  face  framed  by  them. 
There  was  a  tugging  at  his  heart-strings  as  he 
thought  of  her,  but  he  put  the  old  memories 
hastily  aside.  Such  thoughts  were  not  for  him 
now.  But  he  wondered  a  little  if  he  were  doing 
right  in  his  choice  of  a  second  mother  for  the 
child  she  had  left  behind  in  his  care. 

Already,  without  their  knowing  it,  the  graceful 
shadow  of  the  London  lady  was  gliding  between 
them,  and  the  dual  life  of  father  and  child,  with 
its  touching  devotion  to  each  other,  its  pathetic 
love,  born  of  loneliness  and  bereavement,  was 
slipping  away  from  them  both  down  that  swiftly 
flowing,  restless  stream  which  we  call  Life,  never 
to  return  again. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE    MAGNETISM    OF    HENDRY 

IT  was  four  days  after  Elspeth  was  burdened 
with  the  secret  of  her  father's  engagement  to 
the  London  lady,  and  there  was  a  young  people's 
party  at  Freddy's  old  home,  to  which  she  had  been 
invited. 

During  those  four  days  Elspeth  had  been 
snowed  up  in  the  house  alone  with  the  Dragon, 
and  although  she  had  told  all  her  dolls  the  won- 
derful secret,  and  the  robin  had  listened  to  it 
on  the  window-sill,  with  his  perky  little  head 
cocked  on  one  side,  no  sympathetic  human  ear 
had  heard  it  as  yet.  The  London  lady's  name 
must  not  be  mentioned,  even  indirectly,  in  Janet's 
hearing.  Her  father  was  very  much  engaged 
that  week,  and  was  even  lunching  in  town  on 
account  of  the  bad  weather.  Except  for  a  few 
minutes  during  his  hurried  breakfast  Elspeth 
never  saw  him  at  all.  So  now  she  turned  her 
thoughts  in  the  direction  of  the  party,  where  she 
hoped  to  meet  some  of  her  little  girl  friends, 

178 


THE  MAGNETISM  OF  HENDRY     179 

to  whom  she  could  confide  it  in  strictest  secrecy. 

Parties  were  not  always  nice.  Often  they  were 
quite  the  reverse.  Sometimes  there  were  grumpy, 
taciturn,  or  terrifying  fathers  to  be  met.  On 
those  occasions  how  proud  Elspeth  was  of  her 
own  handsome,  genial  one,  who  had  once  or  twice 
come  to  take  her  home!  Sometimes  there  were 
fidgety  or  critical  mothers,  who  were  always  find- 
ing fault  with  their  own  children  and  looking 
askance  at  other  people's.  Sometimes  the  girls 
of  the  family  were  quarrelsome  or  jealous,  and 
sometimes — oh,  horror  of  horrors! — there  were 
bullying  big  brothers  to  be  encountered. 

At  Freddy's  old  home  there  were  none  of  those 
uncomfortable  things.  The  mother  was  gentle 
and  sweet,  the  white-haired  father  was  as  genial 
and  kind  and  handsome  as  Elspeth's  own.  The 
boys  and  girls  had  been  brought  up  to  think  of 
others  rather  than  themselves.  Consequently, 
parties  there  were  a  source  of  unalloyed  delight, 
and  although  all  the  family  were  rriuch  older  than 
herself,  a  few  choice  little  ones,  who  would  have 
been  Freddy's  contemporaries  had  he  lived,  were 
always  invited  with  the  others. 

Think,  then,  of  Elspeth's  disgust  when  she 
heard  the  Dragon  say  that  Thursday  morning  to 


i8o  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

her  father,  as  he  was  putting  on  his  coat  in  the 
hall, 

"I  am  afraid  Elspeth  won't  be  able  to  go  to 
the  party  to-night." 

Her  father,  looking  down,  saw  a  flushed  and 
eager  little  face,  with  a  very  anxious  pair  of 
brown  eyes  in  it,  fixed  on  him. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  said.     "Why  not4?" 

"The  weather,  sir,  just  look  at  it.  And  all  the 
way  to  the  other  side  of  the  Park!  It  is  such 
a  long  way  for  her  to  walk.  The  snow  is  very 
deep  in  places,  and  I  heard  her  sneezing  in  the 
night  last  night  too.  She'll  catch  her  death  of 
cold." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  the  easy-going  father 
again.  "She  is  not  made  of  salt  or  sugar  to  melt 
easily,  are  you,  Elspeth?  If  she  wants  to  go,  and 
is  well  wrapped  up,  I  don't  think  she  would  take 
any  harm.  Do  you  want  to  go,  dear1?" 

"Oh,  yes,  father." 

The  Dragon  compressed  her  thin  lips.  Would 
this  irresponsible  man  never  learn  the  value  of 
the  child's  soul  entrusted  to  him1?  Would  he 
never  understand  that  disappointments  were  good 
for  her1?  That  what  she  liked,  or  did  not  like, 
was  but  a  bubble  compared  to  her  development. 


THE  MAGNETISM  OF  HENDRY     181 

That  the  will  must  be  broken  in  childhood  or  the 
heart  will  assuredly  be  broken  in  maturity.  She 
said  nothing,  however,  but  was  silent,  with  the 
stern  silence  of  disapproval. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  after  that  but  to  get 
things  ready.  So,  with  much  grumbling  at  hav- 
ing to  go  out  herself  with  her  charge  in  such  bit- 
ter weather,  she  starched  and  ironed  the  little 
rough-dried  white  muslin  party  frock,  and  laid  it 
with  its  sash  of  royal-blue,  ready  for  use  on  the 
bed,  and  aired  various  dainty,  lace-trimmed  party 
garments  at  her  kitchen  fire. 

Four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  saw  them  start- 
ing. Elspeth,  muffled  up  to  the  eyes  in  shawls, 
her  feet  encased  in  thick  knitted  woollen  stock- 
ings over  her  white  open-worked  evening  ones, 
and  strong  laced  boots,  with  india-rubber  goloshes 
on  the  top  of  all. 

The  wind  blew  fiercely  down  the  square.  It 
had  been  thawing  all  day  and  the  deep  snow  had 
turned  into  a  sticky  substance.  The  weather  was 
full  of  vagaries,  and  now  it  was  freezing  hard 
again.  What  walking  would  be  like  later  on  no- 
body knew. 

Elspeth's  goloshes,  bought  with  a  careful  and 
thrifty  eye  to  futurity,  were  a  size  too  large  for 


182  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

her,  and  were  continually  slipping  off  at  the  most 
inconvenient  places,  or  whenever  she  tried  to 
hurry.  Once  or  twice  one  was  left  behind  in  a 
mountain  of  slush  and  had  to  be  gone  back  for. 
The  Dragon  was  in  a  very  bad  temper. 

"I  am  sure  you  might  feel  when  they  come 
off.  They  are  heavy  enough,"  she  said  angrily, 
after  going  back  the  third  time.  Elspeth  was 
very  near  tears.  The  multi-coloured  tip  of  her 
nose  felt  frost-bitten  even  under  her  grey  Shet- 
land veil.  Altogether  it  was  a  slow  and  rather 
sorrowful  progress  to  the  brilliantly-lighted  house 
beyond  the  Park,  and  tea  had  already  commenced 
when  they  arrived. 

All  troubles  were  forgotten,  however,  by  Els- 
peth, after  the  Dragon  had  taken  off  her  mummy- 
like  wrappings,  put  on  her  evening  shoes,  and 
brushed  her  curls  by  a  warm  bedroom  fire,  and 
she  went  down  to  the  happy  party  in  the  dining- 
room  and  saw  the  many  smiling  faces  of  her  kind 
friends. 

"Come  away,  come  away.  Better  late  than 
never,"  said  Freddy's  genial  father.  The  mother 
smiled  a  gentle  welcome,  and  made  a  place  beside 
her  at  the  table  for  the  late-comer.  Hendry, 
whom  Elspeth  had  not  seen  for  a  year,  as  he  was 


THE  MAGNETISM  OF  HENDRY     183 

now  away  at  boarding-school,  ran  round  to  her 
with  cookies,  pinching  her  cheek  as  he  did  so,  look- 
ing tall  and  handsome  in  his  evening  suit,  and  the 
shy  child  soon  forgot  her  shyness  in  the  warm  and 
cheerful  atmosphere  of  this  happy  home. 

The  evening  was  well-advanced,  and  a  game  of 
"forfeits"  was  in  progress,  before  Elspeth  discov- 
ered that  she  had  lost  her  pocket-handkerchief, 
and  would  have  nothing  to  pay  were  she  called 
upon  to  forfeit  anything.  She  remembered  that 
she  had  not  had  it  since  tea.  So,  during  one  of 
the  pauses  of  the  game,  she  slipped  downstairs  to 
look  for  it  under  the  dining-room  table. 

The  room  was  in  semi-darkness,  but  she  soon 
spied  the  little  embroidered  white  square  lying 
where  she  had  dropped  it  at  tea-time.  As  she 
picked  it  up,  she  heard  a  smothered  laugh  from  a 
corner  of  the  large  room,  and  looking  fearfully 
round,  discovered  a  small  group  of  boys  who  had 
slipped  surreptitiously  away  from  the  girls'  games 
going  on  in  the  drawing-room. 

There  was  Hendry  in  the  corner  sitting  on  a 
form,  with  boys  to  right  of  him,  and  boys  to  left 
of  him,  doing  sleight-of-hand  tricks  for  their 
benefit.  There  was  much  laughing  and  whisper- 
ing going  on  in  the  half-light  of  that  merry  corner. 


184  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

Now  what  was  it  if  it  was  not  pure  magnetism? 
Elspeth  was  naturally  a  very  nervous  and  shy 
child.  She  was  particularly  afraid  of  the  whole 
boy-species.  And  amongst  this  group  of  boys  she 
saw  the  bullying  big  brother  of  one  of  her  little 
friends — a  boy  who  had  once  snatched  the  slender 
gold  chain  from  her  neck  at  a  party,  and  snapped 
the  ingenious  wire  fastening  at  the  back.  It  was 
her  mother's  watch-chain,  which  the  Dragon  had 
wound  several  times  round  her  neck,  attached  to 
the  little  locket  with  her  mother's  likeness  in  it. 
This  bully  had  made  ribald  remarks  and  asked  if 
it  had  come  out  of  the  pawnshop,  and  Elspeth 
had  flown  into  a  violent  rage  and  stamped  her 
foot  at  him,  which  had  apparently  greatly  pleased 
him.  Now,  whenever  he  saw  her  alone,  or  met 
her  on  her  way  to  school  in  the  morning,  he  would 
come  close  up  to  her  with  the  jibe  "pawnshop," 
hissed  hatefully  in  her  ear  as  he  passed,  or  make 
some  unintelligible  low  remark  from  the  other  side 
of  the  road  about  donkeys  liking  carrots.  Elspeth 
in  her  heart  hated  him  so  much  she  could  have 
killed  him. 

Her  enemy  looked  round  now  jeeringly,  and 
she  drew  herself  up  with  dignity  and  prepared 


THE  MAGNETISM  OF  HENDRY     185 

to  leave  the  room.  But  Hendry  also  looked. 
The  merry,  twinkling  hazel  eyes  said  to  her  as 
plainly  as  words,  "Come  here,  Elspeth,  and  sit 
on  my  knee  and  see  me  do  my  conjuring  tricks. 
/  will  take  care  of  you."  And  the  mesmerism  of 
those  kind,  laughing  eyes  went  straight  to  her 
heart  and  ran  down  into  her  little  bronze  shoes, 
and,  without  stopping  to  think  what  she  was  do- 
ing, she  ran  quickly  across  the  room,  warily  step- 
ping over  the  big,  clumsy  foot  which  the  Bully 
had  stuck  out  for  her  to  trip  over.  She  was  on 
Hendry's  knee,  within  his  warm,  encircling  arm, 
before  you  could  look  round.  The  Bully  was 
quelled  by  the  look  of  quiet  power  on  Hendry's 
face  and  said  nothing.  Happy  Elspeth,  to  have 
such  a  "very  parfait  gentil  knight"  as  her  pro- 
tector. The  influence  which  Hendry  afterwards 
possessed  over  his  fellow-men  was  there  in  em- 
bryo over  his  fellow-boys. 

For  some  minutes  she  sat  quietly  watching  his 
clever  tricks.  Then  she  suddenly  became  con- 
scious of  her  secret.  The  intolerable  burden  of 
it  had  somewhat  worn  off  during  the  excitement 
of  the  evening,  and  it  had  for  a  time  passed  out 
of  her  mind.  She  had  as  yet  found  no  one  with 


186  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

whom  to  share  it.  It  now  flashed  across  her  that 
here  was  a  safe  recipient.  Hendry  was  true,  and 
staunch,  and  loyal,  a  very  prince  amongst 
boys.  She  would  share  the  mighty  secret  with 
Hendry. 

She  watched  her  opportunity,  and  one  soon 
occurred.  There  was  a  pause  in  the  tricks.  The 
Bully's  attention  was  temporarily  engaged  in  cuf- 
fing the  small  boy  next  to  him.  Elspeth  slipped 
a  loving  arm  round  Hendry's  neck  and  whispered : 

"Hendry." 

He  bent  his  head  to  listen,  smiling  at  her. 

"Well,  what  is  it?  Do  you  think  you  can  do 
that  trick?" 

"Hendry,  I  have  a  secret  to  tell  you." 

Then  he  saw  that  it  was  something  important. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  he  whispered  back. 

"I  want  to  tell  you.  My  father  is  going  to  be 
married  again." 

Now  he  was  surprised  indeed. 

"No!"  he  ejaculated. 

"He  is,"  said  Elspeth,  nodding  her  head.  "He 
is,  truly." 

"Who  told  you?"  asked  Hendry. 

"He  told  me  his  own  self." 

"Who  to?"  was  the  next  whispered  question. 


THE  MAGNETISM  OF  HENDRY     187 

"To  one  of  the  London  ladies." 

"Never!"  said  Hendry,  in  such  a  tone  of  sur- 
prise that  he  nearly  let  Elspeth  slip  off  his  knee 
and  had  to  gather  her  hurriedly  on  again. 
"Which  of  them?" 

"Miss  Lilian.  The  one  who  sings,  'Will  ye 
no  come  back  again*?'  " 

For  that  was  what  her  father  and  Miss  Lilian 
had  sung  together  in  her  hearing. 

"Well,  I  never!"  whispered  Hendry. 

At  this  moment  his  mother  appeared  in  the 
doorway. 

"Boys!"  she  exclaimed,  "how  naughty  of  you 
to  go  away  like  that  by  yourselves.  How  very 
unchivalrous  to  go  off  and  leave  the  girls  to  play 
alone !  Hendry,  I  am  surprised  at  you.  Go  all 
of  you  upstairs  at  once  and  join  in  the  girls' 
games.  And  you,  Elspeth,  dear,  what  are  you 
doing  down  here?" 

"I  came  for  my  handkerchief,"  she  replied, 
holding  it  out,  "and  I  stayed." 

"Come  away,  then,  with  me,"  said  the  lady. 
"Now,  boys,  off  you  go  at  once." 

The  boys  tumbled  upstairs  laughing,  a  rough- 
and-tumble  mass  of  humanity,  Elspeth  and  the 
hostess  following. 


i88  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

No  one  noticed  that  Hendry  had  quietly  de- 
tached himself  from  the  group,  and  that  when 
they  all  entered  the  drawing-room  he  was  not 
amongst  them. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    SORROWFUL    WAY 

FOR  what  followed  Elspeth  never  blamed 
Hendry.  Not  even  when  the  fate  of  the 
revealer  of  secrets  befell  her,  when  the  sun  was 
darkened  and  the  moon  ceased  to  give  light,  when 
even  the  stars  themselves  ceased  to  twinkle,  as 
she  bewailed  her  sins  in  the  black  darkness  of  the 
coal-cellar,  trembling  with  fear  at  Willie  Windy 
howling  round  the  house  for  his  little  wife.  For 
Jane's  ventriloquism  had  been  well  done,  and  to 
Elspeth  Willie  Windy  was  a  real  personage,  a 
very  living  and  real  terror,  and  there  was  no  one 
to  undeceive  her.  Besides,  in  the  coal-cellar, 
there  was  nothing  to  hinder  him  from  flying 
down  the  grating  and  going  off  with  her  bodily. 

She  never  blamed  Hendry.  He  was  not  to 
know  the  weight  of  her  mighty  secret,  and  that 
he  alone  out  of  a  crowd  had  been  chosen  to  share 
it.  Probably  in  the  short  course  of  the  inter- 
rupted whisper  he  had  not  even  understood  that 

189 


igo  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

it  was  a  secret  at  all.  Certainly  he  did  not  know 
that  it  was  a  burden  which  had  been  carried  for 
days  awaiting  a  trustworthy  confidant.  Still  less 
did  he  dream  of  the  consequences  to  her  of  his 
repeating  what  she  had  told  him. 

It  was  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world.  Fate 
has  often  hung  upon  a  thread.  This  time  she 
hung  upon  a  button. 

When  Hendry  left  the  other  boys  he  bounded 
upstairs  to  the  nursery.  The  comfortable,  moth- 
erly nurse,  who  had  been  a  second  mother  to  all 
the  family,  sat  in  an  easy  chair  by  the  fire  sew- 
ing, an  open  work-basket  on  the  table  beside  her 
well  supplied  with  needles  threaded  ready  with 
cotton.  For  it  was  a  time  of  girls'  flimsy  even- 
ing frocks.  Tulles  and  tarlatans  and  gauzes  tore 
if  you  so  much  as  looked  at  them  sometimes,  and 
all  knew  that  nurse  waited  with  nimble  fingers  in 
the  nursery,  ready  to  repair  rents,  or  gathers,  torn 
in  play  as  soon  as  they  occurred. 

Hendry  now  held  out  a  shirt-cuff  with  a  but- 
ton hanging  by  a  thread. 

"Ah,  Master  Hendry !  Conjuring  again,  I  can 
see." 

"Yes,"  he  replied. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  asked  carelessly,  while  the 


THE  SORROWFUL  WAY          191 

nurse  stitched  the  button  on,  "Elspeth  Arnot  says 
her  father  is  going  to  marry  Miss  Lilian  Carew4?" 

"Is  he*?"  said  the  nurse,  with  much  interest; 
for  the  London  ladies  had  been  staying  as  guests 
in  that  very  house  (although  Elspeth  did  not 
know  it),  and  it  was  there  that  her  father's  court- 
ship had  been  carried  on.  There  had  been  a  good 
deal  of  talk  and  surmise  about  it  in  the  servants' 
hall,  and  much  wondering  as  to  whether  anything 
would  come  of  it. 

"Is  he?  Well,  I  am  not  surprised.  He  came 
here  a  great  deal  when  they  stayed  here.  Who 
did  you  say  told  you,  Master  Hendry*?" 

"Elspeth  told  me  just  now.  She  said  her 
father  told  her  himself." 

"Oh,  then  it  must  be  all  settled,"  said  the 
nurse.  "I  must  ask  Janet  when  she  comes  to- 
night how  she  likes  that  idea.  It  will  make  a 
great  difference  to  her,  I  should  think.  Any 
more  loose  buttons,  Master  Hendry*?" 

"No,  thanks,"  said  Hendry,  hurrying  off. 
Nothing  could  have  been  simpler. 

When  Janet  came  for  Elspeth  that  evening 
the  nurse  and  she  had  a  long  private  conversa- 
tion in  the  nursery  together,  and  it  was  late  be- 
fore the  child  was  summoned  from  the  drawing- 


192  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

room.  She  trotted  upstairs  gleefully,  her  hands 
full  of  bon-bons,  and  miscellaneous  treasures  out 
of  crackers,  to  show  Janet.  On  her  head  was  a 
pink  paper  cap,  and  she  was  flushed  and  excited 
with  the  happy  time  she  had  been  having.  It 
had  been  a  delightful  evening  all  through.  She 
had  rolled  her  burden  on  the  sympathetic  Hendry, 
and  felt  correspondingly  light  of  heart. 

But  at  the  first  sight  of  the  Dragon's  face  her 
own  fell.  It  was  white,  set,  and  terrible,  the 
thin  lips  drawn  to  a  mere  line.  Not  a  word  was 
said.  Janet  snatched  the  treasures  out  of  the 
child's  hands,  and  the  cap  off  her  head,  and  threw 
them  on  the  dressing-table.  Then  she  muffled 
her  up  quickly  in  her  shawls  and  wrappings,  tying 
on  the  capacious  goloshes  firmly  this  time  with 
string  brought  with  her  in  her  pocket. 

"You  have  tied  them  too  tight,  they  hurt  me," 
whispered  Elspeth. 

"They  are  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  the 
Dragon.  Not  another  word  passed  between 
them. 

In  absolute  silence  they  went  through  the  hall, 
grimly  passing  the  line  of  maids  sitting  waiting 
for  their  charges.  In  silence  they  trod  the 
crunching  snow,  down  the  carriage-drive,  out  into 


THE  SORROWFUL  WAY  193 

the  road.  They  turned  to  the  right,  ,a  different 
direction  to  that  by  which  they  had  come,  and 
Elspeth  ventured  to  remonstrate. 

"Oh,  why  are  we  going  such  a  long,  round- 
about way  home  on  such  a  cold  night?" 

"That  is  my  business,"  was  the  stern  reply. 

What  was  going  to  happen?  They  walked  on 
rapidly.  To  Elspeth  it  almost  seemed  as  if  they 
flew,  so  quickly  did  they  get  over  the  ground. 
They  went  out  of  their  way  to  reach  the  terrace 
where  her  grandfather  lived,  and  stopped  oppo- 
site his  house.  Elspeth  was  panting  breathlessly 
between  fear  and  haste.  She  was  absolutely  ig- 
norant of  any  cause  of  offence.  What  had  she 
been  doing?  There  is  something  horribly  appall- 
ing about  the  unknown. 

A  bright  light  was  burning  in  her  grandfather's 
bedroom  upstairs.  It  shone  cheerfully  through 
the  buff  linen  blind  of  his  window.  The  Elder 
was  going  to  his  peaceful  bed.  He  was  punc- 
tuality and  method  itself,  and  the  town  clock 
struck  ten  as  the  two  figures  stood  silently  in 
the  snow  outside.  Two  loose  teeth  awaiting  the 
Dragon's  rough  dentistry  chattered  in  Elspeth's 
head. 

As   they  looked,   the   Elder's  shadow  crossed 


194  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

the  blind.  He  came  over  close  to  the  window 
and  stood  there  winding  up  his  watch.  His  slim, 
erect  figure  was  silhouetted  against  the  bright 
yellow  background,  every  line  of  it  perfect,  his 
straight,  clear-cut  features,  framed  with  his  abun- 
dant hair,  showing  up  as  if  they  had  been  cut  out 
of  black  paper. 

"Do  you  see  your  grandfather*?"  asked  the 
Dragon  in  an  awful  whisper. 

"Ye-es,"  said  the  child,  trembling. 

"He  thinks  the  whole  world  of  you,"  hissed 
the  Dragon.  "You  are  the  very  apple  of  his 
eye.  You  little  deceiver !  I  wonder  you  are  not 
killed  this  moment  at  his  railings  like  Ananias 
and  Sapphira.  Their  lives  were  not  as  bad  as 
yours." 

The  Elder  moved  away  from  the  window  just 
then,  and  the  sense  of  his  nearness  and  protect- 
ing presence,  if  she  screamed  very  loud,  forsook 
the  child  and  she  shivered  with  terror. 

"Take  that — and  that — and  that,"  said  the 
Dragon.  "That"  meant  blows  on  the  victim's 
back.  They  sounded  very  loud,  but  they  did 
not  hurt  much,  for  they  fell  on  many  woollen 
wrappings,  till  a  crowning  one  came  and  she  went 
down  amongst  the  snow  like  a  ninepin. 


THE  SORROWFUL  WAY          195 

It  was  the  most  exquisite  refinement  of  cruelty 
to  chastise  her  thus  in  front  of  her  grandfather's 
house,  with  her  protector  so  near  and  yet  so  far 
away. 

Look  out,  quickly,  grandfather,  and  see  the 
helpless  child  of  your  old  age,  the  apple  of  your 
eye,  lying  prostrate  in  the  snow  in  front  of  your 
window  this  bitter  night! 

She  was  not  there  long  though.  The  Dragon 
dragged  her  up  again  hastily  before  she  had  time 
to  cry  out,  and  shook  her  roughly,  balancing  her 
on  the  slippery  goloshes. 

"I've  a  good  mind  to  leave  you  in  the  street 
all  night.  You  wicked,  untruthful  child!"  she 
said. 

"I  wish  you  would,"  wailed  Elspeth,  "and 
then  grandpapa  would  take  me  in." 

The  Dragon  hurried  her  quickly  past  the  house 
at  that.  The  Elder's  hearing  was  quick.  He 
would  recognise  the  child's  voice  at  once,  and 
come  out  if  she  cried  out  loud. 

A  policeman  passed  them  on  his  beat.  Some 
vague  thoughts  of  appealing  to  him  passed 
through  Elspeth's  mind.  But  he  never  looked  at 
her. 


196  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

"It's  a  fine  clear  nicht,"  he  remarked  in  suave 
tones  to  the  Dragon.  'Treezin'  hard  again." 

"It  is  that,"  she  replied  as  blandly. 

They  walked  on  till  they  reached  a  corner  of 
waste  ground  at  the  end  of  the  terrace.  Here 
some  ancient  corporation,  with  vague  dreams  of 
beauty  in  its  heart,  had  planted  grass  and  shrubs 
and  erected  a  fountain  in  the  middle.  The  nude 
figure  of  a  little  child,  blackened  with  age,  stood 
on  a  pedestal,  tipping  up  a  pitcher,  through  one 
generation  to  another.  The  fountain,  of  which 
it  was  the  crowning  ornament,  was  somewhat  er- 
ratic in  its  performances,  and  who  turned  on  its 
water  supply  or  who  turned  it  off,  or  whether  it 
was  automatic,  nobody  seemed  to  know.  It 
played  sometimes  for  weeks  at  a  time,  then 
stopped  suddenly  for  months.  It  had  been  play- 
ing for  some  obscure  reason  when  the  Frost  King 
descended  upon  it  and  bound  it  fast  in  his  chains 
of  ice.  The  little  black  figure  stood  now,  pa- 
thetic in  its  nakedness  and  loneliness,  fringed 
with  mighty  icicles,  with  icicles  dropping  from  its 
pitcher. 

Elspeth  had  always  felt  a  strange  sympathy 
for  this  childish  statue.  When  she  was  very  lit- 
tle she  had  wanted  to  bring  some  of  her  warm 


THE  SORROWFUL  WAY          197 

clothes  to  put  on  it.  She  thought  of  it  often  on 
cold  nights  in  the  winter.  So  now  she  felt  she 
had  a  silent  companion  in  her  cold  and  misery. 
The  Dragon  stopped  by  the  frozen  fountain  and 
began  again. 

"The  wickedest,  story- telling  girl  that  ever 
lived.  That's  what  you  are.  A  hypocrite.  A 
whited  sepulchre,  full  of  rottenness  and  dead 
men's  bones  within.  You  pretend  to  be  so  good, 
with  your  innocent  looks,  to  your  father  and 
grandfather.  They  don't  know  you.  You  lit- 
tle  "  she  paused  to  find  the  most  expressive 

word  in  her  vocabulary,  then  hissed  it  out  between 
her  teeth — "you  little  cutty!" 

Elspeth  here  plucked  up  a  little  courage,  helped 
by  that  silent,  ice-bound,  childish  figure,  which 
was  at  once  so  much  worse  off  than  herself. 

"I  have  been  a  good  girl  this  week.  You  said 
so  yourself,"  she  said,  between  her  piteous  sobs. 
"I  don't  know  why  you  are  scolding  me.  If  it  is 
the  loaf-sugar  that's  gone  again  I  wish  you'd  ask 
father  about  it.  He  will  tell  you  I've  had  none. 
He  says  he  buys  the  sugar — and  he'll  take  it  if  he 
likes — in  spite  of  anybody." 

She  was  tale-bearing  again  about  her  father 
to  excuse  herself.  The  Dragon  slapped  her 


198  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

harder  than  ever.  It  penetrated  this  time  to  the 
bare  shoulders  under  her  woollen  wrappings. 

"You  know  very  well  it  is  not  sugar  I  am 
speaking  about,"  she  said.  "I  forbade  you  ever 
to  mention  those  London  ladies'  names  again, 
and  you  go  straight  to  this  party,  the  very  first 
chance  you  have,  and  tell  Hendry,  Hendry  who 
is  a  boy!  I  wonder  you  didn't  think  shame  to 
be  so  forward  as  to  tell  a  boy  such  a  thing — that 
your  father  is  going  to  marry  one  of  them !  And 
it'll  be  all  through  the  town  to-morrow,  and  in 
the  papers  on  Saturday.  Such  a  wicked,  wicked 
lie !  As  if  your  father  would  look  at  one  of  them 
after  the  mother  you  had.  You'll  come  to  the 
gallows  before  you've  done." 

"But  father "  began  Elspeth. 

"Be  quiet  now  immediately,  and  don't  tell  me 
any  more  of  your  lies,  but  walk  home  in  front 
of  me.  You'll  never  see  your  mother  again,  that 
I  know.  When  you  get  to  the  next  world  the 
door  of  Heaven  will  be  slammed  close  shut  in 
your  face!" 

This  was  the  culminating  and  most  terrible 
prophecy,  which  generally  broke  Elspeth's  heart 
and  haunted  her  dreams  for  nights.  But  some- 


THE  SORROWFUL  WAY          199 

how  to-night,  as  she  walked  the  rest  of  her  sor- 
rowful way  home,  weeping  quietly  in  anticipation 
of  what  was  sure  to  come,  dragging  her  heavy 
goloshed  feet  through  the  snow,  so  conscious  was 
she  of  absolute  innocence  that  it  had  little  or  no 
effect.  Even  the  stars  seemed  to  wink  kindly 
down  upon  her,  as  if  to  say  that  beyond  them, 
where  her  mother  dwelt,  there  was  only  peace  and 
love,  and  little  children  were  never  misunder- 
stood, as  they  so  often  were  in  this  weary  world 
down  below. 

The  Dragon  was  one  of  those  people  who,  even 
in  a  walk  with  a  confidential  friend,  had  to  keep 
stopping  to  talk  every  now  and  then,  as  if  the 
mere  act  of  locomotion  impeded  her  flow  of  lan- 
guage. But  she  never  stopped  now  till  they 
reached  their  own  house,  walking  the  rest  of  the 
way  in  a  silence  that  could  be  felt,  and  was  very 
uncomfortable  to  feel.  Then  she  propped  Els- 
peth,  who  was  by  this  time  very  tired,  up  against 
one  stone  pillar  of  the  gate,  and  leant  against  the 
other  herself  for  further  parley.  The  house  was 
in  semi-darkness,  her  master  not  having  yet  re- 
turned home. 

"Now,  before  you  go  in,  you've  got  to  say 


200  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

you're  sorry  for  telling  such  lies,"  she  said,  fe- 
turning  to  the  charge;  "or  else  you'll  stay  out 
here  all  night." 

Elspeth  sighed  wearily.  She  was  too  tired  to 
care  what  happened  to  her.  The  secret  was  out 
now  anyway.  Her  father  was  better  able  to  pro- 
tect himself  than  she  was. 

Suddenly  and  unexpectedly  she  turned  at  bay, 
and  her  quivering  childish  mouth  took  on  a 
strange  resemblance  to  her  grandfather's  firm  one. 

"I  am  not  sorry,"  she  said  boldly.  "I  am 
not  sorry  one  single  bit.  I  haven't  told  any  lies. 
Father  told  me  himself,  and  he  said  I  wasn't  to 
tell  you.  You  may  kill  me  if  you  like,"  she 
added,  with  sublime  indifference,  leaning  up 
against  the  pillar. 

But  this  was  a  new  aspect  of  the  affair.  Could 
there  possibly  be  some  truth  in  it  after  all"?  The 
Dragon  was  nonplussed.  That  her  suspicions 
had  been  aroused  previously,  was  evident  by  the 
jealousy  with  which  she  had  received  any  mention 
of  the  London  ladies'  names.  She  called  to  mind 
that  lately  her  master  had  been  behaving  uncom- 
monly like  an  accepted  lover — whistling  and  sing- 
ing Jacobite  songs  about  the  quiet  house  like  a 
happy-hearted  boy.  He  was  still  young  and  was 


THE  SORROWFUL  WAY          201 

now  evidently  getting  over  his  grief,  which  had 
been  very  deep  and  sincere  while  it  lasted. 

The  Dragon  said  no  more,  but  walked  thought- 
fully up  the  steps,  inserted  her  latch-key  in  the 
door,  and,  pushing  the  child  before  her,  entered 
the  hall,  still  thinking. 

"Now  go  downstairs,"  she  said  sharply,  "while 
I  see  to  the  fires  up  here.  And  take  off  your 
wraps,  and  I'll  come  down  and  give  you  the  big" 
gest  thrashing  you  have  ever  had  in  your  life. 
You  deserve  it.  You  won't  forget  this  one  in  a 
hurry." 

Elspeth  walked  slowly  and  sorrowfully  along 
the  hall,  with  eyes  half-blind  with  weeping. 
There  was  no  escape.  Janet's  word  was  as  the 
laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians.  She  always 
kept  it.  If  she  could  only  run  away  to  her 
grandfather!  But  the  back  door  was  locked  and 
bolted  she  knew.  It  always  was  at  nights,  and 
she  could  not  reach  the  top  bolt.  So  that  was  no 
use. 

The  back  stairs  were  very  dark  and  crooked, 
with  an  awkward  bend  to  them.  Elspeth  had 
had  more  than  one  bad  fall  there,  and  her  father 
had  a  thick  rope  fixed  up  for  her  to  hold  on  by, 
as  there  was  no  railing.  She  held  on  to  the  rope 


202  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

now  by  sheer  force  of  habit,  for  she  would  have 
been  glad  to  have  gone  down  head  first,  with 
the  natural  speed  of  gravitation,  right  from  the 
top  to  the  bottom,  and  there  would  have  been 
an  end  of  her.  She  kicked  one  foot  sullenly  be- 
hind the  other  and  walked  as  slowly  as  possible. 

At  the  crooked  and  dangerous  bend  the  string 
which  tied  on  a  golosh  came  undone  and  it  slipped 
off.  And  there  in  the  dark  corner,  in  her  fatigue, 
and  despair,  and  helplessness,  the  tempter  met 
her. 

Hitherto  she  had  been  blamed  unjustly.  She 
would  now  deserve  the  punishment  which  was 
surely  coming.  She  would  leave  the  golosh  lying 
there,  and  Janet,  who  never  held  on  by  the  ropes, 
would  fall  over  it,  and  rumbling  down  to  the 
bottom  of  the  stairs  would  break  her  neck.  She 
(Elspeth)  would  be  hanged  for  it.  But  that  was 
a  mere  detail. 

Another  thought  also  struck  her,  and  on  the 
spur  of  it  she  raced  down  the  rest  of  the  stairs 
with  speed.  The  bedroom  which  she  shared 
(except  on  Saturday  nights)  with  Janet,  was  a 
large  sunny  room  in  the  front  of  the  house,  facing 
the  square.  It  was  the  breakfast-room  of  the 
house,  really,  and  was  only  a  semi-basement. 


THE  SORROWFUL  WAY         203 

Here,  in  a  large  cupboard,  Elspeth  kept  her  toys 
and  played  by  herself  when  it  was  not  too  cold, 
and  here  also  she  slept.  It  served  as  day  and 
night  nursery  combined.  It  was  exactly  opposite 
the  stairs.  The  gas — a  naked  light — was  burn- 
ing there  now  dimly.  The  bracket  had  flexible 
joints,  it  was  bent  over  to  the  looking-glass, 
where  Janet  had  serenely  put  on  her  bonnet  before 
going  out,  and  was  well  within  Elspeth's  reach. 

Speedily  she  disrobed,  dashing  off  shawls  and 
mufflers.  Then  with  three  mighty  puffs  she  blew 
out  the  gas,  and  in  her  low-necked  muslin  frock 
crawled  under  Janet's  bed,  and  up  into  its  farth- 
est away  corner.  She  was  absolutely  safe  there, 
she  knew.  It  was  an  old-fashioned  wooden 
double  bedstead,  very  narrow  underneath,  and  no 
grown-up  person  could  ever  get  under  it.  It  was 
fixed  up  against  the  wall  and  was  very  heavy  to 
move.  Unless  her  father  helped  Janet  to  move 
it  she  might  stay  there  all  night  if  she  liked. 

It  was  bitterly  cold.  There  was  no  fire  in  the 
room.  Janet  would  not  allow  that,  for  she  be- 
lieved in  making  children  hardy.  The  icy  wind 
blew  up  from  the  cracks  in  the  floor,  which  was 
uncarpeted  under  the  bed.  There  was  dust,  and 
cobwebs,  where  Janet's  broom  could  not  reach  to 


204  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

sweep.  It  was  hardly  the  place  for  a  scanty  mus- 
lin, low-necked,  short-sleeved  evening  frock  on  a 
bitter  night  in  January.  But  Elspeth  knew  she 
was  safe  from  pursuit.  She  held  the  key  of  the 
position  in  her  own  small  hands. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

LIKE    AS    A    FATHER 

JANET  was  a  long  time  upstairs  in  the  dining- 
room  and  her  master's  bedroom.  She  had 
been  away  for  two  or  three  hours,  and  the  fires 
were  nearly  out  and  were  tiresome  to  burn.  It 
was  some  time  before  she  could  leave  them  to  go 
to  the  shivering  culprit  below.  As  she  went  down 
the  back  stairs  she  was  assailed  by  a  strong  smell 
of  escaping  gas. 

"What  have  you  been  doing,  you  bad  child!" 
she  cried,  running  down  swiftly,  neatly  missing 
the  golosh. 

Then  the  window  had  to  be  opened  to  let 
the  smell  out,  and  in  the  darkness  Janet, 
fumbling  for  the  bracket  to  turn  the  gas  off, 
knocked  her  head  sharply  against  it.  Elspeth 
laughed  hysterically  under  the  bed.  She  was 
thoroughly  naughty  now  and  utterly  regardless 
of  consequences. 

In  vain,  when  Janet  discovered  her  where- 
abouts, did  she  order  her  to  come  out,  issuing 

205 


206  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

imperative  commands,  entreaties,  threats,  by 
turns.  Elspeth  remained  there,  sullen  and  im- 
movable. If  she  froze  to  death,  which  seemed 
quite  likely,  there  she  would  stay  till  they  found 
her  skeleton.  Janet's  temper  waxed  furious. 
She  fetched  a  broom  and  gave  several  smart  cracks 
with  it  in  the  far  corner.  Elspeth  lay  face  down- 
wards, laughing  and  crying  alternately  when  she 
found  she  was  beyond  reach. 

At  last  the  enemy  was  worsted  and  had  no  al- 
ternative but  to  surrender. 

"Stay,  then,  where  you  are,"  Janet  cried,  "till 
your  father  comes  home,  if  it  should  be  till  mid- 
night. His  hands  are  stronger  and  heavier  than 
mine.  What  he'll  do  to  you  I  dare  not  think. 
I  would  not  trust  myself  now  to  whip  you.  I 
am  too  angry." 

She  went  off  into  the  kitchen  as  she  spoke, 
and  Elspeth  lay  still,  sobbing  and  shivering,  till  she 
heard  her  father's  step  in  the  hall.  Janet  went 
up  to  meet  him.  There  was  a  long  conversation 
in  the  room  overhead.  The  voices  rose  and  fell, 
now  low,  now  loud.  Elspeth  heard  her  father 
pacing  about  the  room.  It  almost  seemed  as  if 
he  were  remonstrating  with  Janet  for  giving  him 
some  task  to  do  to  which  he  objected. 


LIKE  AS  A  FATHER  207 

"Where  is  she  9"  she  heard  him  ask  at  length. 

Presently  she  heard  a  loud  noise  on  the  stairs 
— rumble-tumble,  rumble-tumble — as  if  a  heavy 
body  were  being  suddenly  precipitated  to  the 
bottom.  It  was  her  father  tumbling  over  the 
golosh!  She  had  killed  him  instead  of  Janet! 
Her  kind,  indulgent  father !  She  put  her  fingers 
into  her  ears  so  that  she  should  not  hear  the  rest. 
It  was  not  until  he  looked  under  the  bed  that  she 
knew  nothing  serious  had  happened. 

"Come  out  now,  Elspeth,  at  once,  and  no  non- 
sense," he  said  gravely,  in  the  quiet  tone  of  one 
accustomed  to  being  obeyed. 

But  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  Elspeth  did 
not  obey  that  beloved  voice. 

Janet  leant  against  the  rail  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  her  face  white  with  concentrated  passion. 
Her  master  glanced  at  her  and  took  in  the  situa- 
tion at  once.  He  saw  that  it  was  a  battle  royal 
of  wills  and  that  neither  of  the  combatants  would 
surrender. 

"I  think,  Janet,"  he  said  quietly,  "if  I  am  to 
manage  her,  you  had  better  go  away.  I  can  do 
it  better  alone.  You  can  go  and  make  me  some 
coffee.  I  am  tired  and  hungry.  I  have  had  a 
long,  hard  day's  work,  and  have  not  eaten  any- 


208  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

thing  since  midday.  Go  away,  now,  if  you 
please,  and  leave  me  to  manage  her  by  myself." 

So  Janet  withdrew,  and  he  waited  till  he  heard 
her  busy  in  the  kitchen.  She  would  disapprove 
of  his  methods,  he  knew.  There  was  dead  silence 
under  the  bed. 

"Now,  Elspeth,"  he  said  sorrowfully,  "you're 
a  very  naughty  little  girl,  I  hear.  I  want  you 
to  come  out  at  once.  Father  is  very  tired  and 
very  cold.  He  has  had  a  long  drive  from  the 
country  to-night,  and  you  will  be  kind  to  him,  I 
know.  You  know  he  won't  whip  his  own  only 
little  girl,  so  you  can  come  out.  He  wants  her 
to  explain  to  him  what  all  this  rumpus  has  been 
about." 

He  waited  patiently,  and  presently  he  heard 
her  shuffling  nearer — a  little  nearer  still — then 
she  peeped  out  from  under  the  bed  to  see  how 
the  land  lay. 

"Come  away  now,  darling,"  he  said. 

After  some  more  delay,  she  came  out,  a  miser- 
able and  melancholy  little  object  in  her  muslin 
frock,  all  bedraggled  with  melted  snow  from  the 
golosh  which  had  stayed  on,  festooned  with  cob- 
webs, and  covered  with  dust.  Her  sash  of  royal- 
blue  was  crumpled  and  twisted  round  to  the  front; 


LIKE  AS  A  FATHER  209 

her  white,  tear-stained  face  was  pitiable  in  its 
abject  misery.  She  who  had  gone  forth  so  brave- 
ly to  her  party ! 

But  there  was  dignity  in  every  line  of  the  erect, 
diminutive  figure.  Her  spirit  was  not  yet  broken. 
Her  father's  lips  twitched  under  his  moustache 
in  spite  of  himself. 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  she  took  it  with  slow 
and  dignified  deliberation.  They  looked  at  each 
other  gravely,  as  if  taking  each  other's  measure. 
There  was  silence  between  them  for  a  minute  or 
two.  Then,  at  last,  her  dignity  broke  down,  and, 
sobbing,  she  asked  a  foolish  question. 

"Are  you  killed,  father?" 

It  was  absurd,  seeing  him  there  in  the  flesh,  and 
he  laughed.  He  was  rather  glad  to  get  an  op- 
portunity of  laughing  out  loud. 

"Killed!     No.     Why  should  I  be  killed?" 

"Are  you  hurt?" 

"No,  I  am  not  hurt.  I  slipped  on  the  stairs, 
that  is  all.  Janet  should  be  more  careful  and 
not  leave  things  lying  about  in  that  dark  corner." 

Elspeth  looked  at  him.  In  spite  of  being 
swollen  with  tears,  her  eyes  grew  round  and  big 
at  the  thought  of  what  might  have  been.  But 
she  was  no  moral  coward  to  let  the  weight  of 


210  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

blame  for  her  misdeeds  fall  upon  any  one  else. 
Not  so  had  she  been  brought  up. 

"/  left  it  lying  there,"  she  said  slowly.  "It 
wasn't  Janet." 

"You!     Why?" 

"For  Janet — to — to—fall  over.  I  wanted  to 
— murder — her,"  she  wailed,  and  flung  herself 
into  her  father's  arms.  He  gathered  her  up  in 
them  and  held  her  frozen  hands  tightly  in  his 
own. 

"Now  tell  me,"  he  said  gravely,  "from  the  be- 
ginning, all  about  this.  It  is  no  use  your  setting 
your  will  in  opposition  to  Janet's,  you  know,  for 
she'll  master  you.  You'll  get  the  worst  of  it, 
however  hard  you  try.  You  may  as  well  under- 
stand that  to  commence  with." 

With  many  sobbing  interruptions,  and  much 
coaxing,  she  told  her  long  and  sorrowful  story, 
gathering  confidence  to  explain  some  of  the  feel- 
ings bottled  up  in  her  heart  as  she  went  along. 
The  father  got  a  glimpse  then  into  depths  he  had 
never  guessed  at,  so  uncommonly  like  his  own 
that  more  than  once  he  smiled  over  the  childish 
confidences.  For  it  had  been  a  difficulty  in  keep- 
ing his  own  secret  that  had  made  him  share  it  with 


LIKE  AS  A  FATHER  211 

her  in  the  first  place — a  most  foolish  and  unwise 
proceeding  altogether. 

He  drew  the  rug  off  her  crib  beside  him  and 
wrapped  the  shivering  little  mortal  in  it,  listen- 
ing to  her  story  with  a  tenderness  born  of  much 
sympathy  and  understanding  on  his  part. 

"And,  O  father,"  wound  up  Elspeth,  "please 
do  let  me  be  your  little  companion  again.  But 
don't — don't — tell  me  any  more  secrets,  for  I 
can't  keep  them,  you  see.  I  was  afraid  I  couldn't. 
It  was  such  a  big  secret  for  a  little  girl  like  me, 
and  I  had  to  tell  somebody.  And  now  I've 
broken  my  word,  and  grandpapa  says  that's  a 
very  bad  sign  of  anybody.  But  you  never  told 
me  not  to  tell  Hendry,  did  you*?  And  I  didn't 
tell  Janet  till  she  knew." 

"I  never  thought  of  him,"  said  her  father 
simply.  "Indeed,  I  didn't  know  you  knew  him 
well  enough  to  tell  him  anything.  And  he  is  a 
big  boy.  I  thought  you  were  so  dreadfully  afraid 
of  big  boys." 

"Not  of  Hendry,  father." 

"Well,  we'll  say  no  more  about  it  now.  Shall 
father  undress  you  and  sit  with  you  till  you  go  to 
sleep*?  and  then  you  and  Janet,  as  you've  had 


212  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

such  a  terrific  big  quarrel,  needn't  see  each  other 
again  to-night." 

"Oh,  please." 

He  undressed  her  with  tenderness,  as  he  had 
often  done  before  on  Sunday  nights,  when  she 
was  too  little,  or  too  sleepy,  to  wait  till  Janet 
came  home.  The  excitement  was  over  now  and 
she  was  quite  worn  out  with  the  stress  of  her 
emotions.  He  wiped  her  tear-stained  face  with 
his  pocket-handkerchief,  and  gently  picked  some 
cobwebs  off  her  hair,  and  he  tucked  her  up  in 
her  own  little  crib  as  tenderly  as  any  mother. 
The  clock  struck  the  hour  of  midnight  as  he  did 
so. 

Her  sleepy  face  looked  up  at  him  from  the 
pillow,  all  aglow  with  responsive  love  and  grati- 
tude, as  with  quivering  lips  she  murmured: 

"My  prayers.  You've  forgiven  me.  May  I 
say  them  to  you,  dear  father,  now1?" 

"Surely — surely." 

He  did  not  know  that  this  was  Janet's  crown 
and  climax  of  punishment,  to  refuse  to  let  her 
say  her  prayers,  and  to  send  the  child,  sorrowful 
and  unshriven,  into  unhallowed  sleep.  It  was 
on  those  occasions  that  the  door  of  Heaven  was 
slammed  in  her  face,  and  she  heard  the  terri- 


LIKE  AS  A  FATHER  213 

ble  cry  "Too  late!"  echoing  through  the  night. 
She  murmured  the  infant's  committal  hymn 
aloud : — 

"I  lay  my  body  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep. 
If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take." 

Her  voice  grew  fainter,  and  it  was  in  a  very 
sleepy  tone  that  she  began  the  enumeration  of  her 
beloved  ones.  "Bless  father,  grandfather,  the 

Laird,  and  Janet,  and  make  little  Elspeth " 

Here  the  voice  trailed  away  into  silence.  She 
was  asleep. 

"Well,  that's  quick  work,"  said  her  father, 
after  waiting  a  few  minutes  to  hear  if  the  sleepy 
voice  resumed  its  orisons  again.  "She  must  have 
been  thoroughly  tired  out.  But  what  in  the 
world  possessed  her  to  tell  the  lad  Hendry,  I 
wonder?"  he  added  musingly,  as  he  gently  with- 
drew his  hand  from  hers. 

Half  an  hour  later  Janet  stood,  shading  a 
candle  with  her  hand,  looking  at  the  sleeping 
child.  A  quivering  sob  passed  over  the  little 
frame  as  Janet  stood  there.  The  storm  had  spent 
itself,  but  as  the  thunder  rumbles  away  among  the 
mountains  long  after  the  sky  has  cleared,  so 


214  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

Elspeth's  memory  of  her  Via  Dolorosa  haunted 
her  even  in  her  dreams. 

She  was  small  for  her  age,  and  for  the  first 
time  Janet  seemed  to  see  traces  of  inherent  deli- 
cacy in  the  dark  violet  shadows  under  her  eyes, 
and  the  blue  veins  shining  through  the  white 
skin.  Her  heart  softened  as  she  looked. 

"Poor  wee  thing!"  she  said  to  herself.  "Per- 
haps her  grandfather  is  right  when  he  says  I  am 
too  severe  with  her.  And  I'm  beginning  to  won- 
der if  there  has  maybe  been  some  truth  in  what 
she  has  been  saying  after  all.  Her  father  looked 
uncommonly  sheepish  when  I  told  him  about  it. 
I  don't  know  if  he  whipped  her  or  not,  but  I  will 
not  say  anything  more  about  it  to  her  to-morrow. 
I  will  just  put  her  in  the  coal-cellar  for  tale-bear- 
ing, for  she  must  be  stopped  at  that — that  is,  un- 
less she  has  got  her  death  of  cold  to-night,  which 
I  think  is  very  likely." 

Here  Janet  lifted  up  the  crumpled  blue  sash 
from  where  her  master  had  put  the  boots  on  the 
top  of  it,  shook  it  out  carefully,  and  moved  her 
candle  farther  away  so  that  its  rays  should  not 
disturb  the  sleeper. 

"And  if  her  father  is  really  going  to  marry  a 
butterfly  of  a  lady  like  one  of  these  London  ones," 


LIKE  AS  A  FATHER 

continued  she,  "then  all  the  more  reason  why  I 
should  make  the  most  of  my  time  while  I  am 
here,  in  training  her  up  in  the  nurture  and  ad- 
monition of  the  Lord,  so  that  she  may  never  for- 
get. She  won't  get  much  of  it  afterwards,  or  I'm 
cheated.  But  what  in  the  world  made  her  tell 
that  boy  Hendry  is  what  gets  over  me,  and  her 
ordinarily  so  shy  with  boys." 

So  both  master  and  maid  wondered  the  same 
thing  in  almost  identical  words.  But  neither  of 
them  ever  thought  a  word  about  personal  magne- 
tism, or  that  would  have  explained  everything. 

And  there  let  me  say,  as  the  figure  of  Janet 
passes  across  these  pages,  that  if  I  have  failed  to 
depict  her  as  she  really  was,  a  good  woman  and 
true,  of  sterling  principles,  with  high  ideals  of 
duty  and  religion,  I  have  failed  indeed. 

Of  the  blood  of  the  martyrs  was  Janet.  Fit 
mate  for  one  of  those  brave  men  of  the  moss- 
hags,  who  skulked  in  caves  and  holes  of  the  earth, 
or  left  their  bones  bleaching  in  the  dungeons  of 
the  Bass,  laying  down  their  lives  triumphantly 
for  God  and  the  Covenant.  Unfortunately,  she 
was  born  a  couple  of  centuries  too  late,  and,  liv- 
ing in  the  palmy,  easy-going  days  of  Queen  Vic- 
toria, had  not  their  glorious  opportunities  of  testi- 


216  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

fying.  But  that  ancestor  of  hers  who  received 
the  crown  of  martyrdom,  whose  name  is  writ 
large  in  the  roll  of  the  noble  army  of  martyrs  in 
Edinburgh,  had  no  more  leal  and  true  follower  of 
the  principles  for  which  he  laid  down  his  life,  than 
this  humble  working  housekeeper,  who  was  his 
direct  descendant,  and  earned  her  daily  bread  by 
the  honest  sweat  of  her  brow  in  the  commonplace 
ruts  of  quiet  life. 

She,  too,  would  have  gladly  hailed  such  an 
opportunity  of  laying  down  her  life  for  her  princi- 
ples as  he  did,  had  she  lived  in  more  strenuous  and 
stirring  times. 


CHAPTER  XV 

IN    THE    GLOAMING 

SHADOWS  lay  over  the  grey  house  in  the 
square,  the  shadows  of  coming  events.  At 
the  door  Fate  sat  spinning.  When  she  saw  the 
Dragon  go  out,  she  shook  her  head  slowly  and 
sadly.  When  she  saw  Elspeth  come  bounding  in, 
swinging  her  bag  of  school-books,  she  smiled  a 
little  wistfully.  Perhaps  she  herself  had  been  a 
child  once  and  knew  how  swiftly  childhood  passes 
away.  When  she  saw  grandfather,  the  Elder, 
toiling  up  the  steep  walk  which  wound  amongst 
the  trees  for  his  daily  constitutional,  with  his 
hand  behind  his  back  to  act  as  a  propeller  in  his 
ascent,  she  had  tears  in  her  eyes.  But  when  she 
looked  at  Elspeth's  father,  and  saw  the  worried, 
preoccupied  look  on  his  handsome  face,  she 
laughed,  and  holding  up  her  distaff  laughed  again 
behind  it. 

"The  Elder  was  up  in  the  cemetery  yester- 
day," whispered  the  Dragon's  widowed  sister  one 
Sabbath,  when  she  had  come  to  tea. 

"Never!"  said  the  Dragon,  with  a  start  of 
217 


218  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

such  surprise  that  the  toast  on  her  toasting-fork 
fell  into  the  ash-pan. 

"He  was.     I  saw  him." 

"He's  never  been  there  since  Mistress  Arnot 
was  buried.  Are  you  quite  sure  it  was  him1?" 

"Ay,  I'm  sure,"  said  the  widow.  "I  bought 
two  roots  of  pink  double  daisies  at  the  door  in 
the  forenoon.  They  were  real  fine  roots.  I  paid 
tuppence  each  for  them.  And  I  took  them  up 
to  the  cemetery  in  the  aifternoon,  and  I  was 
plantin'  them  on  the  gudeman's  grave,  when  I 
h'ard  a  quick,  shairp  step  ahint  me — my!  but  he's 
soople  on  his  feet,  that  auld  man — and  there  was 
the  Elder.  And  he  walkit  ower  to  Mistress  Ar- 
not's  grave  and  stood  there  a 'while.  Then  he 
stoopit  down  and  pookit  up  some  weeds " 

"Weeds!"  interrupted  the  tidy  Dragon,  and 
nearly  dropped  the  toast  again.  "Is  it  untidy? 
Elspeth  and  me  haven't  been  up  there  for  three 
weeks." 

"Oh,  no,  it's  no'  to  say  untidy.  There's  wall- 
flowers out  and  white  lilies — real  bonny — and 
/  saw  nae  weeds.  But  the  Elder  pookit  twa, 
three — bits  o'  gress,  I'm  thinkin' — and  flung 
them  ower  the  wall.  Then  he  went  away,  walkin' 
very  shairp." 


IN  THE  GLOAMING  219 

"Wonders'll  never  cease,"  said  the  Dragon. 
"I  wonder  what  took  him  up  there." 

But  the  Dragon  herself  had  some  mystery  about 
her,  for  sometimes  she  sighed,  and  once  or  twice 
Elspeth  saw  tears  in  her  eyes.  She  sewed  ever- 
lastingly at  white  seam. 

"But,  Janet,"  remonstrated  Elspeth,  "I  had 
three  quite  new  white  petticoats  with  a  lot  of 
tucks  in  them  last  year,  and  you're  making  me 
three  more.  And  grandpapa  says  I  haven't 
grown  a  quarter  of  an  inch  since  last  year,  for 
he  measures  me  on  the  door.  He  thinks  I'm  go- 
ing to  be  a  dwarf,  like  Kitty  Wake." 

"It's  best  to  have  half  a  dozen  of  everything," 
said  the  Dragon.  "You  never  know  what's  go- 
ing to  happen."  Then  she  added  in  a  vicious  un- 
dertone, breaking  her  thread  with  a  snap  as  she 
did  so;  "She  shall  see  I  know  how  to  sew,  at  any 
rate,  and  how  children's  clothes  should  be  made." 

When  the  light  failed  for  white  seam,  the  Dra- 
gon crocheted  tuckers,  neat  tuckers  stitched  on 
white  tape,  a  whole  cardboard  box  full  of  them, 
and  explained  how  it  was  easiest  for  small  fingers 
to  sew  them  on  frocks. 

"But,  Janet,"  queried  Elspeth,  "if  I  have  three 
for  my  everyday  frocks,  and  three  for  Sundays, 


220  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

I  don't  need  any  more,  do  I,  when  Auntie  Rosie 
washes  them  every  fortnight*?" 

"Auntie  Rosie  won't  always  wash  them  every 

fortnight." 

"Who  will,  then?" 

"They'll  perhaps  go  to  a  laundry,"  said  Janet 
mysteriously.  She  pronounced  it  "landry." 

"What  is  a  'landry'  *?"  promptly  asked  Elspeth. 

"Wait  and  see,"  said  the  Dragon.  That  horrid 
answer  to  stay  the  insatiable  thirst  for  knowledge 
in  youth,  lately  revived  by  an  eminent  person- 
age. Surely  he  must  have  had  it  said  to  him  in 
his  nursery  days  and  have  taken  that  opportunity 
of  retaliating  on  his  fellow-countrymen. 

"But,   Janet "  persisted  the  querist. 

The  Dragon  here  fixed  her  with  her  eye. 

"Now  then !  how  often  have  I  told  you  to  ask 
no  questions  and  you'll  be  told  no  lies." 

No  more  was  to  be  gathered  from  that  quarter. 

Grandfather,  too,  was  somewhat  mysterious. 
He  drew  the  child  close  to  him  very  often  when 
she  went  to  see  him,  and  sometimes  smoothed 
back  her  curls  from  her  forehead  with  a  very 
gentle  old  hand. 

"LYou    are    getting    rather    like    your   grand- 


IN  THE  GLOAMING  221 

mother,"  he  said  softly;  "but  with  a  difference, 
for  you  are  like  your  father  too.  You  have  her 
brow.  A  fine,  broad  brow.  There  ought  to  be 
something  behind  it.  You  must  be  very  diligent 
indeed  with  your  lessons." 

"I  am,"  said  Elspeth.  "I  have  kept  top  for  a 
fortnight.  I  went  bottom  yesterday,  though," 
she  added,  as  an  afterthought. 

"What  for4?"  asked  grandfather. 

"For  giggling.  Oh,  it  was  funny.  We  all 
said  that  Miss  Maria's  curls  at  the  back  of  her 
head  were  false,  and  Nellie  Anderson  said  if  ever 
she  got  the  pointer  in  her  hand  when  Miss  Maria 
was  tying  up  the  map,  she  would  feel  with  it  and 
see.  And  she  did  it  yesterday.  And  Miss  Maria 
turned  round  her  head  quickly  to  see  who  it  was, 
and  the  pointer  caught  in  them,  and  the  curls 
came  all  off  in  a  bunch,  with  a  big  comb,  and  the 
black  lace  cap  she  always  wears,  fastened  on  to 
them.  And  they  all  fell  right  down  on  to  the 
floor  in  a  big  bunch.  And  I  laughed  out  loud.  I 
couldn't  help  it." 

"That  was  a  very  rude  girl,"  said  grandfather 
severely. 

"Oh,  but,  grandpapa,  you  would  have  laughed 


222  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

yourself  if  you  had  seen  it.  Father  laughed  out 
loud  when  I  told  him  this  morning.  Miss  Maria 
looked  so  funny.  She's  got  grey  hair  underneath, 
just  a  little  screwed-up  wee  wisp.  And  she's 
quite  bald  on  the  top." 

"Well,  it  was  very  rude,  all  the  same,"  re- 
peated grandfather.  "I  am  surprised  at  you  that 
you  didn't  know  how  to  behave  better  than  that." 

Elspeth  hastily  changed  the  subject. 

"Grandpapa,  why  am  I  not  going  to  the  Laird's 
this  summer?"  she  asked. 

"You  must  ask  your  father  that  question,  not 
me,"  he  replied. 

"But  father  won't  tell  me.  He  just  says  we 
are  going  to  the  seaside  instead.  And  the  sea- 
side isn't  half  so  nice  as  going  to  the  Laird's.  I 
just  hate  bathing  when  Janet  puts  me  over  the 
head." 

"No,"  said  grandfather,  "I  agree  with  you.  It 
isn't  nearly  so  nice  as  the  Laird's." 

He  got  up  and  walked  over  to  the  window  as 
he  spoke,  and  looked  out  on  his  little  garden  patch, 
now  bursting  into  bloom  with  its  sweet,  old- 
fashioned  flowers. 

"  'And  the  Lord  God  planted  a  garden  east- 
ward in  Eden,'  "  he  said  softly  to  himself:  "  'and 


IN  THE  GLOAMING  223 

there  he  put  the  man  whom  he  had  formed  .  .  . 
to  dress  it  and  to  keep  it.' '  He  paused  a  mo- 
ment or  two,  and  then  went  on:  "'And  the 
Lord  God  drove  the  man  .  .  .  out  of  the  gar- 
den.' " 

"There  was  a  woman  too,"  chimed  in  Elspeth, 
who  was  listening  intently,  in  the  hope  of  catch- 
ing some  fragment  of  a  solution  to  the  mystery, 
as  she  often  did  in  her  father's  monologues. 
"There  was  a  woman  too,"  she  repeated,  for  her 
grandfather  did  not  appear  to  be  listening  to  her. 

"In  this  case  there  was  only  a  man,"  he  re- 
plied. 

"Grandpapa!"  ejaculated  Elspeth,  "where  was 
Eve  then?  Adam  was  married  when  he  was 
turned  out  of  Eden." 

"In  this  case  Adam  was  an  old  bachelor,"  said 
her  grandfather,  so  seriously  that  Elspeth  asked 
no  more. 

She  grew  tired  at  last  of  worrying  her  mysteri- 
ous relatives,  and  devoted  herself  instead  to  her 
dolls,  crooning  over  them,  mothering  them,  flying 
into  rages  and  slapping  them,  after  the  manner 
of  the  Dragon  herself.  Then,  after  praying  earn- 
estly with  the  delinquents  that  they  might  have 
new  hearts  given  to  them,  hearts  of  flesh  instead 


224  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

of  stone,  making  them  sit  down  and  learn  texts  out 
of  the  Proverbs  as  she  had  to  do  so  often  herself. 

But  indeed  it  was  over  the  Laird's  home  that 
the  mystery  and  trouble  lay.  The  long  shadows 
reached  the  grey  town,  but  it  was  in  the  heart  of 
the  beautiful  country  that  the  crucible  was  burn- 
ing, purging  and  purifying  the  soul  of  the  silver- 
haired  Laird,  and  breaking  his  heart  in  the  proc- 
ess. 

It  was  through  no  fault  of  his  own.  He  was 
one  of  the  simplest  and  most  economical  of  men, 
with  not  a  single  ambitious  or  extravagant  taste 
belonging  to  him.  But  his  estate  had  been  heav- 
ily mortgaged  by  his  father  when  he  inherited  it, 
and  he  knew  it.  He  was,  unfortunately,  no 
farmer,  and  the  land  needed  skilled  farming  to 
make  it  pay.  He  was,  withal,  so  simple  and 
child-like,  so  unbusiness-like  and  utterly  unprac- 
tical, living  centuries  back  in  his  study  amongst 
his  books,  that  he  did  not  even  seem  to  realise  his 
position  until  the  inevitable  happened.  Then  he 
had  to  sell  the  house  of  his  fathers  to  pay  debts 
that  were  none  of  his  making,  and  his  own  heart 
had  to  be  fused  in  the  process. 

It  was  the  last  night  of  May,  18 — .  The  Laird 
had  spent  the  day  in  his  shirt-sleeves  in  his  study, 


IN  THE  GLOAMING  225 

and  the  result  of  his  labours  was  apparent. 
Three  huge  packing-cases  were  filled  with  books. 
The  dead  languages  were  in  one,  modern  lan- 
guages in  another,  classics  in  the  third.  They 
had  all  been  bought  secondhand.  He  had  never 
been  rich  enough  to  buy  new  books.  Two  more 
cases  yawned  empty,  waiting  for  the  miscellaneous 
assortment  on  the  study  shelves;  the  novels  of 
Scott,  Fenimore  Cooper,  Smollett,  Fielding,  and 
Richardson,  books  of  Theology,  Logic,  Chemistry, 
and  all  Hugh  Miller's  geological  books.  The 
Laird  was  a  voluminous  reader  of  wide  culture 
and  broad  views.  All  sort  of  authors,  ancient 
and  modern,  crowded  his  shelves,  the  silent  ser- 
vants of  his  many  solitary  hours. 

He  was  tired  of  stooping,  and,  standing  up 
straight  to  stretch  his  long  back,  he  caught  sight 
of  the  sun  setting,  a  red  globe  of  fire,  behind  the 
long  range  of  serrated  peaks  which  were  visible 
from  his  windows.  It  called  to  him  to  go  out  and 
watch  it,  as  it  had  done  any  time  for  the  last  sixty 
years.  To  him  the  voice  of  Nature  was  the  Voice 
of  God. 

He  washed  his  dusty  hands  in  the  little  wash- 
stand  which  stood  in  the  cupboard  of  his  study, 
and  put  on  his  coat.  The  instincts  of  the  old 


226  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

bachelor — his  "pernickety  ways,"  as  the  Dragon 
called  them — made  him  brush  it  carefully  before 
he  put  it  on  to  go  and  look  at  the  sunset,  and  he 
rumpled  up  his  snow-white  curls  with  both  his 
hands.  Then  he  went  out  and  stood  in  the  porch, 
a  fine,  stalwart  figure  of  a  man. 

Long  years  before,  an  eminent  sculptor  had 
asked  permission  to  model  the  old  Laird's,  his 
father's,  magnificent  limbs  for  a  celebrated  statue 
of  Adam.  The  son  inherited  his  father's  splendid 
health  and  magnificent  physique. 

He  stood  now,  tall  and  stately,  with  the  young 
fresh  tendrils  of  the  honeysuckle  climbing  over 
the  trellis-work  of  the  porch  above  his  head.  Be- 
fore it  flowered  the  old  place  would  know  him  no 
more.  The  man's  heart  was  very  full. 

It  was  a  sunset  of  strange  tints  that  evening. 
A  background  of  clouds  of  deep  violet  tipped 
with  crimson.  The  sky,  of  the  very  palest  blue, 
had  been  turned  by  the  brightness  of  the  sun  into 
a  lake  of  silver,  in  which  floated  small,  fleecy 
cloudlets  of  brilliant  rose-pink,  like  islets  float- 
ing in  a  crystal  sea.  The  rays  of  the  sun  be- 
hind the  purple  clouds  threw  out  long  shafts  of 
dazzling  brightness,  which  tipped  the  dark  back- 
ground with  silver,  as  the  sun  kisses  the  petals  of 


IN  THE  GLOAMING  227 

a  daisy.  Every  peak  in  the  long  range  of  moun- 
tains on  the  west  was  rose-tipped,  but  the  highest 
of  them  all  towered  clear  and  cone-shaped  in  the 
distance,  glistening  in  a  shimmering  mantle  of 
silver  and  pale  blue,  as  if  the  sky  had  wrapped 
it  round  in  its  own  cerulean  colour. 

The  beautiful  tints  sank  into  the  Laird's  heart, 
and  set  it  throbbing  and  pulsing  wildly  against  his 
destiny.  He  was  a  child  of  the  mountains, 
poetic  and  dreamy.  Spirits  are  not  finely  touched 
but  to  fine  issues,  and  such  see  God  in  every 
flower  that  blooms  and  every  leaf  which  rustles 
and  whispers  overhead.  The  Spirit  of  the  Moun- 
tains spoke  to  the  Laird's  soul  now  in  the  glory 
of  the  setting  sun. 

He  reached  his  hand  out  for  his  hat,  hanging 
on  a  peg  in  the  hall.  He  must  go  out  into  that 
fresh,  sweet-scented,  rose-tinted  air  while  the 
afterglow  lasted.  He  must  walk  round  the  old 
place  once  more. 

He  paused  at  the  sweet-brier  hedge  which 
bordered  the  garden  and  looked  over  it.  Every 
spot  was  associated  with  his  life.  The  old  pear- 
tree,  with  its  gnarled  and  twisted  branches,  each 
one  bearing  a  different  kind  of  fruit — he  had  him- 
self, as  a  boy,  superintended  their  grafting  into 


228  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

the  original  stock — was  now  a  mass  of  blossoms. 
The  apple  and  plum-trees  were  flaunting  in  their 
spring  robes  of  beauty.  In  the  shady  corner  was 
a  bed  of  lilies-of-the-valley,  and  at  his  feet  violets, 
white  and  blue,  lurked  like  weeds  in  every  corner, 
springing  up  even  on  the  flagged  path,  filling  the 
air  with  their  fragrance. 

Was  it  in  the  spring  of  the  year,  I  won- 
der, when  Adam  and  Eve  were  turned  out  of 
Eden? 

The  Laird  walked  up  and  down  the  grassy 
paths  slowly,  with  his  hands  behind  his  back, 
drinking  in  the  pure  sweetness  of  the  air,  and  the 
smell  of  the  fresh  earth  with  the  vigorous  spring 
growth  going  on  within  it.  He  paused  again  at 
the  bottom  of  the  slope  to  look  over  the  fields — his 
fields — and  gazed  over  the  rich  pasture  land.  If 
he  had  only  been  a  better  farmer ! 

Just  so  had  they  looked  when  he  came  home 
every  year  from  college  in  the  spring.  Just 
where  he  stood,  his  mother  used  to  stand  and 
wave  her  hand  to  him,  as  he  turned  the  corner 
in  his  father's  gig.  Just  so  had  they  looked 
when,  on  one  never-to-be-forgotten  evening,  he  had 
wandered  out,  and  standing  on  lower  ground  be- 
hind the  untrimmed  hedge  had  heard — what  he 


IN  THE  GLOAMING  229 

was  not  meant  to  hear.  The  soft,  low  laugh  of 
a  girl,  the  deep,  pleading  tones  of  a  man. 

"You  did  not  think,"  said  the  girl,  "that  I 
cared  for  your  brother,  did  you?  Why,  it  was 
always  you,  Robin  Adair." 

Then  she  laughed,  a  long,  low  ripple  of  happy 
girlish  laughter,  as  at  some  old  joke  between 
them. 

The  man  outside  the  hedge  moved  softly  away. 
No  one  ever  knew  that  he  had  heard  a  word, 
but  the  current  of  his  life  changed  with  a  rush 
from  that  hour. 

The  old  man  glanced  now  at  the  nugget  ring 
on  his  left  hand.  It  was  a  keepsake  from  them 
both.  They  had  gone  to  Australia,  these  two,  his 
younger  brother  and  the  pretty  orphan  girl-cousin 
whom  both  brothers  had  loved,  and  they  had  died 
there  within  a  few  months  of  each  other.  Their 
boy — Elspeth's  father — had  come  home  to  his 
uncle  and  had  been  brought  up  here  in  the  old 
place. 

Gladly  would  he  have  averted  this  catastrophe. 
But  the  Laird  was  proud,  and  perhaps  even  a 
little  obdurate  in  his  sacrifice  for  principle.  He 
would  pay  his  debts  himself.  He  would  incur  no 
fresh  ones.  And,  after  all,  what  did  he  need?  A 


230  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

place  whereon  to  lay  his  head.  A  few  shelves  on 
which  to  put  his  books.  He  would  have  enough 
and  to  spare  for  all  that  when  everything  was 
paid  in  full.  And  the  house  had  always  been  too 
big  for  him.  The  farm  had  only  been  a  great 
worry  and  anxiety.  He  was  a  student  and  no 
farmer.  He  was  as  strong  and  as  young  as  ever, 
he  assured  those  who  would  only  too  gladly  have 
extended  a  helping  hand.  So  they  were  over- 
ruled. 

The  Laird  walked  slowly  through  the  radiant 
garden,  where  all  Nature  was  smiling  on  her 
silver-haired  child.  Past  the  kitchen  window, 
where  Mistress  Kate,  her  face  pale  and  her  eyes 
red  with  weeping,  sat  putting  a  few  stitches  in 
the  gown  she  was  going  away  in  on  the  morrow, 
and  on  into  the  summer-house.  By  the  mere 
force  of  habit  he  raised  his  hand  above  his  head 
and  felt  beneath  the  heather  thatch.  A  wren  flew 
out  and  then  another.  Yes,  the  wrens  had 
built  here  again  this  year.  How  many  genera- 
tions of  wrens'?  It  was  sixty  years  since  he  had 
found  the  first  nest  there,  and  during  the  genera- 
tions the  birds  had  grown  very  tame.  Did  they 
hand  down  a  tradition,  from  one  generation  to  an- 
other, that  a  gentle  boy  and  man  owned  this  sum- 


JN  THE  GLOAMING  231 

mer-house  and  would  not  touch  their  eggs?  For 
they  built  in  the  same  spot  every  year. 

He  wandered  outside  the  little  white  wicket- 
gate  which  shut  off  the  garden  from  the  paved 
courtyard,  and  stood  under  a  large  beech-tree 
on  the  grass. 

A  squirrel  darted  up  at  his  approach  and  sat 
motionless  on  a  branch.  But  he  was  not  caring 
anything  about  the  squirrels.  He  was  looking 
at  Elspeth's  swing  hanging  on  the  beech-tree.  It 
had  been  put  up  again  by  his  orders,  as  he  had  ex- 
pected her  to  come  out  with  her  father  on  the  pre- 
vious Saturday  to  say  good-bye  to  the  old  place. 
But  her  father,  at  the  last  moment,  had  thought  it 
best  not.  She  was  a  great  deal  too  sharp  and 
asked  far  too  many  questions. 

A  fierce  pang  shot  through  the  Laird's  heart. 
He  might  have  a  pillow  on  which  to  lay  his  head, 
and  shelves  on  which  to  put  his  books.  But 
never  again  would  he  have  a  home  in  which  to 
welcome  the  child  of  his  old  age.  Nor  a  swing 
for  her  to  swing  on,  so  that  he  might  hear  the 
music  of  her  childish  laughter,  as  she  swung  high 
amongst  the  leafy  branches  and  startled  the 
squirrels.  He  was  closing  the  gates  of  Paradise 
for  her  also  as  well  as  for  himself.  He  gave  a 


232  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

smothered  groan,  and  a  man  standing  motionless 
near  the  gate  turned  round  quickly.  It  was 
Davy  Andrews.  The  Laird  had  not  seen  him. 

"Takin5  a  bit  daunder,  Laird*?"  said  Davy  with 
the  assurance  of  an  old  servant. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Laird.  "It  is  a  beautiful  even- 
ing." 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  Davy,  and  turned  his  face 
away.  He  too  left  the  old  place  to-morrow  and 
was  taking  "a  bit  daunder." 

Touch  a  Scotsman  (when  you  have  once  found 
his  vulnerable  spot),  the  slightest  pin-prick  will 
do,  and  you  will  find  sentiment.  It  may  take  a 
surgical  operation  to  drive  a  joke  into  his  head, 
as  our  ancient  foes,  the  English,  are  fond  of  as- 
serting. I  am  no  judge  of  that.  The  quality  of 
humour  varies,  and  where  one  sees  a  joke  another 
sees  nothing  but  a  mere  quibble,  not  worth  chang- 
ing his  facial  expression  for.  That  is  not  to  say, 
however,  that  he  has  not  perceived  what  was  in- 
tended to  be  a  joke.  But  I  do  know  that  only 
the  very  thinnest  layer  of  epidermis  covers  the 
sentiment  which  lies  deep  in  the  soul  of  the  Scot, 
although  he  would  not  own  it  for  the  world,  and 
would  probably  despise  me  for  letting  out  the 
secret. 


IN  THE  GLOAMING  233 

It  you  watch  a  Scotch  tinker,  standing  shiver- 
ing in  his  rags,  gazing  over  a  paling,  you  may 
know  he  is  peopling  the  scene  with  memories  of 
his  past.  And  the  most  disreputable-looking  ur- 
chin amongst  the  whole  ragged  company  will  tell 
you  where  you  can  best  see  the  sun  rise  from  be- 
hind the  hills.  The  old  toothless  crone,  whom 
you  may  meet  in  your  rambles  over  the  moors, 
mumbling  amongst  the  ruins  of  a  homestead,  is 
peopling  them  with  life,  forming  them  once  more 
into  a  cottar's  home,  where  women  croon  and 
babes  weep  as  in  the  past. 

The  Laird  walked  quickly  away  from  Davy 
across  the  flagged  courtyard.  He  was  not  in 
the  mood  for  talk  with  his  fellow-men.  He 
craved  for  Solitude,  that  nurse  of  full-grown 
souls. 

On  every  door  of  the  farm-steading  loomed 
bills  in  large  lettering: — "Displenishing  Sale," 
"Roup  of  Valuable  Stock,"  "Arable  Land,"  etc., 
so  many  acres,  roods,  poles. 

The  Laird  turned  his  eyes  away  from  them, 
and  only  saw  the  big  letters  in  a  mist  as  he 
passed. 

A  quarrelsome  fowl  flew  down  from  her  roost 
in  the  hen-house  with  an  angry  "Tchk — tchk — 


234  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

tchk "  at  some  other  one  usurping  her  position 

on  the  perch. 

Cattle  lowed  in  the  byre  and  the  farm  horses 
neighed  in  their  stable.  But,  in  a  small  stable 
at  the  end  of  the  yard,  there  whinnied  and  nick- 
ered the  voice  of  Donald  Dhu,  frantic  with  joy 
at  the  sound  of  his  master's  footsteps.  The  Laird 
unlocked  the  door  and  passed  in.  Here  was  the 
dumb  companion  of  his  lonely  years. 

The  pony  laid  a  loving  head  upon  his  master's 
arm,  eating  the  sugar  which  the  Laird  had  brought 
with  avidity  and  delicate  crunchings.  The  eyes 
of  the  petted  creature  were  soft  and  limpid  with 
love. 

The  Laird  patted  the  brown  head  and  stroked 
the  tawny  mane. 

"We've  wandered  mony  a  weary "  he  cor- 
rected himself,  "mony  a  gladsome  fit  thegither, 
you  and  me,  Donald  Dhu,"  he  said,  speaking  in 
the  homely  Scottish  dialect,  as  if  the  pony  under- 
stood it  better.  "We  hae  come  noo  to  the  pairt- 
ing  o'  the  ways.  The  minister  will  be  a  gude 
maister  to  you.  He  is  a  smaller  and  a  lichter 
man  than  I  am.  Your  burden  will  be  easy  in 
your  auld  age,  Donald,  my  man.  Good-bye,  auld 
faithful  freend." 


IN  THE  GLOAMING  235 

The  pony  seemed  to  understand.  When,  a 
few  minutes  later,  the  Laird  left  him,  he  stamped 
his  feet,  and  nickered  and  whinnied  as  if  life  were 
too  hard  for  him.  He  would  rather  have  been 
shot  by  the  Laird's  own  hand,  and  have  lain  down 
beside  his  mother  in  the  same  green  pastures  where 
he  had  scampered  as  a  foal,  than  change  masters, 
had  he  be  given  liberty  of  choice. 

The  Laird  quietly  returned  to  the  house  and, 
changing  his  coat  again,  resumed  his  packing. 


w 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    CLOSING    OF    THE    GATES 

HEN  Mistress  Kate  came  herself  to  re- 
move the  Laird's  supper-tray,  she  found 
the  dainty  supper  she  had  prepared  for  him,  the 
well-cooked  milk-porridge  and  the  little  glass  jug 
of  cream,  the  crisp  delicious  oat-cakes,  the  thin 
potato  scones,  and  the  pats  of  newly-made  butter 
— all  his  favourite  dainties — untouched. 

"Oh — sir "  she  said,  remonstrating,  but  he 

raised  his  hand. 

"I  wish  to  speak  to  you,  Katherine — to  say 
good-bye.  I  am  going  early  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." 

He  paused  a  moment  as  he  saw  her  turn  a 
shade  paler. 

"It  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  say  good-bye  after 
ten  years  together — ten  years  of  faithful  service 
on  your  part,  Katherine,  and  many  kindnesses 
done  to  me  and  mine — but  it  has  to  be  done.  Here 

you  will  find  your  wages,"  he  handed  an  envelope 

236 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  GATES     237 

to  her  across  the  table,  "and  for  three  months 
extra.  That  will  give  you  a  rest  until  you  find 
something  to  do.  Changes  are  coming  in  my 
nephew's  household.  He  may  need  you  for  a 
time.  And  then — perhaps — I  hope,"  he  added, 
with  a  smile,  "the  Canadian  lad  may  be  able  to 
send  for  you  across  the  sea  to  a  home  of  your  own. 
I  am  a  poor  man,  but  I  will  gladly  pay  your 
passage-money  for  you.  Or  if  I  can  help  you  in 
any  other  way " 

Here  the  housekeeper  could  control  herself  no 
longer.  She  had  been  screwing  her  black  alpaca 
apron  round  and  round,  till  it  bore  no  semblance 
to  an  apron  at  all,  in  her  efforts  to  control  her  feel- 
ings, so  as  not  to  upset  her  master.  Now  she  held 
it  up  to  her  face,  her  pent-up  feelings  gave  way, 
and  she  burst  into  a  fit  of  uncontrollable  weep- 
ing. 

"Oh — sir — sir "  she  sobbed;  "if  you  would 

only  let  me  go  with  you,  to  work  for  you  and 
fend  for  you.  I  want  no  wages — and  no  lad  in 
Canada — he  can  wait.  To  think  of  you  in  two 
rooms  in  Mistress  Cameron's  wee  bit  hoosie  in  the 
village — and  you  used  to  this  a'  your  life — just 
breaks  my  he'rt.  And  Mistress  Cameron  canna 
cook,  they  say,  and  she  doesna  know  the  things 


238  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

you  like — and  you're  getting  old,  sir — excuse 
me." 

The  Laird  smiled,  but  he  was  ill  at  ease.  He 
was  not  used  to  women's  tears.  They  discom- 
posed him.  His  mother  had  been  a  woman  of 
stern  self-control. 

"Not  so  very  old,  Katherine,"  he  said  jokingly; 
"old  to  you,  perhaps.  I  am  not  seventy  till  Mid- 
summer, and  I  am  strong.  At  threescore-and-ten 
my  natural  vigour  is  not  abated.  I  have  all  my 
faculties  quite  unimpaired,  thanks  be  to  God  for 
His  many  mercies,  and  for  the  quiet  life  He  has 
permitted  me  hitherto  to  lead.  My  forebears 
have  been  long  lived."  And  he  looked  as  if  he 
thought  it  rather  a  pity. 

Then  she  began  pleading  that  she  might  go 
with  him  to  nurse  him  when  he  should  be  ill. 

"But  I  am  never  ill,"  he  assured  her.  "You 
know  that.  Besides,  I  am  too  poor  now.  I  can- 
not afford  to  keep  a  housekeeper,  even  if  I  would. 
And  there  would  be  no  room  for  you  in  Mistress 
Cameron's  house.  I  have  taken  the  only  rooms 
she  has  for  myself.  You  need  not  fear,  I  shall  be 
perfectly  happy,"  he  said,  rising,  and  holding  out 
his  hand  to  her.  "And  oh,  spare  me,  Katherine," 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  GATES     239 

he  added,  as  she  went  on  sobbing,  "for  it  is  hard 
enough  as  it  is,  God  knows." 

The  housekeeper  seized  the  hand  he  held  out 
to  her,  and,  raising  it  to  her  lips,  kissed  it  fervent- 
ly. The  Laird  was  to  her  as  a  king  amongst 
men. 

The  shy,  sensitive  old  bachelor  looked  a  little 
embarrassed.  Then  she  fled  to  the  silence  and  se- 
clusion of  her  own  room. 

It  was  well  on  in  the  small  hours  of  the  morn- 
ing before  the  Laird  sought  his,  and  then  only 
for  a  short  rest.  Sleep  had  forsaken  him  that 
night. 

Before  that  he  went  through  his  usual  practice 
of  locking  up,  seeing  to  the  bolts  of  doors  and 
windows,  with  his  chamber  candle  held  high  in 
his  hand. 

In  the  large  east  room  he  set  it  down  on  the 
table  for  a  few  moments  and  glanced  around. 
Everything  was  dismantled.  This  had  been  the 
chief  reception-room  of  the  house  and  of  late 
years  had  seldom  been  used.  It  had  a  musty 
smell  about  it.  The  old-fashioned  chairs  of 
carved  oak,  dark  with  age  and  much  polishing, 
were  piled  together.  These  were  going  to  help 


240  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

to  furnish  his  two  rooms.  On  the  round  spindle- 
legged  table  and  old-fashioned  piano  some  things 
were  lying  ready  for  the  housekeeper  to  pack  for 
him  next  day.  A  trayful  of  geological  specimens 
picked  up  in  his  own  travels;  marbles  brought  to 
him  by  his  nephew  from  Italy;  quartz  sent  him 
in  his  earlier  days  from  Australia;  specimens  of 
ore  from  Cornish  and  Welsh  mines;  and  fossils 
from  his  own  hills.  He  had  never  been  beyond 
Paris  himself,  but  had  explored  Great  Britain 
with  the  keen  eye  of  the  geological  enthusiast  and 
expert. 

A  few  pieces  of  old  china  also  lay  here  wait- 
ing to  be  packed,  handleless  cups  and  quaint 
bowls,  his  mother's  treasures.  And,  beside  them, 
two  long  pastoral  staves  made  of  crystal  (or  a 
substance  resembling  it),  which  had  been  the  mys- 
tery of  his  childhood.  The  hooks  from  which 
they  had  been  suspended  were  still  over  the  man- 
telpiece. He  lifted  up  one  of  them  and  won- 
dered if  wadding — as  Mistress  Kate  had  suggested 
— was  the  best  thing  to  pack  them  in.  They 
were  very  brittle. 

"They  are  the  mystery  of  our  house,"  he  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  laughingly  informing  his  few 
stray  visitors.  "Tradition  says  they  were  given 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  GATES     241 

to  an  ancestor  of  ours  by  King  James  IV.,  but 
why,  we  do  not  know.  Why  long  pastoral  crooks'? 
and  why  made  of  this  brittle  and  unusual  sub- 
stance? The  ancestor  to  whom  they  were  given 
was  killed  at  the  Battle  of  Flodden,  and  his 
widow  died  at  the  birth  of  her  posthumous  son, 
from  the  shock  of  the  bad  news.  There  was  no 
one  left  to  tell  the  tale  and  explain,  but  the  staves 
were  evidently  considered  of  great  value,  and 
were  preserved  for  the  orphaned  babe.  It  is 
through  him  and  his  heirs  that  they  have  de- 
scended to  me. 

"We  have  been  a  pastoral  family,  perhaps  that 
was  the  explanation  of  the  gift.  The  one  killed 
at  Flodden  was  the  only  fighter.  That  I  am  no 
farmer  is  for  no  lack  of  pastoral  blood.  It  is 
because  I  am  a  freak,  like  the  fighter.  But  there 
have  been  several  courtiers  amongst  us,  and  we 
have  a  family  tree  and  a  few  heirlooms.  Our 
family  is  old  and — if  I  may  say  it  without  boast- 
ing— honourable,  although  it  is  now  almost  ex- 
tinct. One  of  our  ancestors  was  Comptroller  of 
the  Household  to  the  ill-fated  Mary,  Queen  of 
Scots." 

The  Laird  laid  down  the  precious,  mysterious 
crystal  staff  with  the  history  attached  to  it,  in 


242  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

the  heart-felt  hope  that  neither  of  them  would 
be  broken  in  their  transit  to  his  new  home. 

Then  he  went  upstairs,  and  into  the  large  room 
with  the  baize  doors,  the  old  nursery  of  the  house. 
Here,  as  a  child,  he  used  to  play.  There  was 
the  rocking-chair  where  his  mother  used  to  sit 
rocking  his  little  brothers,  who  were  all  younger 
than  himself.  He  could  see  her  now,  and  hear 
her  softly  crooning  to  the  babe  in  the  old- 
fashioned  wooden  cradle,  with  her  foot  on  the 
rockers  while  she  knitted. 

Here,  too,  was  the  Dragon's  bed,  and 
Elspeth's  little  cot,  just  as  they  had  left  them 
when  they  went  back  to  the  town  last  time.  The 
blankets  and  quilts  were  all  neatly  folded,  ready 
for  airing  when  they  should  be  coming  back 
again. 

He  turned  away  from  that  room  very  quickly, 
and  entered  a  smaller  one  close  by,  which  had 
two  windows  set  in  an  angle  at  the  end  of  the 
passage.  A  large  four-post  mahogany  bedstead, 
with  curtains  of  ancient-patterned,  but  spotlessly 
clean,  chintz,  occupied  the  centre  of  the  room, 
covered  with  an  embroidered  quilt  worked  in 
faded  silks  of  aesthetic  shades. 

He  went  over  and  looked  at  the  bed.     For 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  GATES     243 

many  years  he  had  entered  that  room  early  every 
morning,  carrying  in  his  own  hand  a  cup  of  tea, 
and  had  been  greeted  by  the  occupant  of  the  bed 
with  a  pleasant  smile  and  cheery  question. 

"Did  you  make  my  tea  with  your  own  hands, 
Charles,  my  son*?" 

And  his  laughing  answer  was  always  the 
same. 

"With  my  own  hands,  mother.  And  the 
cream  is  from  your  own  cow's  boyne  in  the 
dairy." 

"Then  it  is  good,  my  son.  Pull  up  the  caster 
blind  and  let  me  see  the  sun  rising  over  the  young 
plantation." 

It  was  not  many  years  before — only  ten,  for 
she  had  lived  to  be  over  ninety — that  going  in 
one  morning  as  usual  with  his  mother's  cup  of 
tea,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  received  no 
greeting,  and  peeping  behind  the  curtains,  he  found 
her  asleep.  When  he  gently  pulled  up  the  caster 
blind  to  wake  her,  he  saw  that  a  miracle  had  hap- 
pened in  the  night,  and  that  all  the  wrinkles,  gath- 
ered up  in  her  ninety  and  odd  years'  pilgrimage, 
had  been  smoothed  away  from  the  familiar  fea- 
tures. It  was. the  face  of  a  woman  in  her  prime 
which  lay  on  the  pillow,  with  the  morning  sun- 


244  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

shine  streaming  all  around  her.  The  face  of 
Death  turned  towards  the  Sun  of  Life. 

The  Laird  walked  now  to  that  caster  window 
and  looked  out.  Over  what  his  mother  called 
the  "young  plantation" — it  was  full-grown  now 
— the  rosy  flush  which  precedes  the  dawn  was  al- 
ready spreading  along  the  sky.  In  those  northern 
latitudes  there  is  little  light  at  that  season  of  the 
year.  The  afterglow  has  barely  faded  in  the  west 
before  the  blushing  dawn  asserts  its  reappearance 
in  the  east. 

It  had  been  a  perfect  night,  with  a  young  sil- 
very moon  sailing  in  majesty  through  the  sky. 
Now,  when  the  distant  peaks  of  the  mountains 
cast  their  dark  lagged  silhouettes  against  the  sky- 

•J        C7C7  J 

line,  the  stars  were  already  paling  in  their  bril- 
liance before  the  light  of  the  coming  day.  Far  to 
the  eastward  the  darkness  of  the  deep  blue  sky 
had  faded  into  a  paler  shade,  and  a  wondrous 
light  gleamed  behind  it,  as  of  some  glory  shining 
through  a  transparency  of  blue.  It  passed 
through  a  succession  of  shades,  each  paler  than 
the  last,  into  pink,  gold,  amber,  then  softest  green, 
deepening  again  to  blue,  which  darkened  till  it 
reached  the  trees  of  the  avenue  near  the  house. 
Then  it  shone  through  quivering  traceries  of  pop- 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  GATES     245 

lar,  and  sycamore,  and  beech,  till  the  deep  soft 
shades  of  night  lying  over  the  house  were  once 
more  reached. 

The  Laird  lingered  long  at  the  window  watch- 
ing the  glorious  panorama  of  changing  colours. 
Then,  passing  out  of  the  room,  he  closed  the  door 
softly  behind  him,  as  one  closes  it  on  the  dead. 
That  part  of  his  life  was  over.  Henceforth,  his 
face  was  turned  towards  the  dawn. 

A  morning  of  glorious  promise  followed  that 
radiant  sunrise.  The  larks  were  carolling  love- 
songs  all  over  his  fields,  in  wonderful  trills  and 
waterfalls  of  sound,  when  the  Laird  left  his  own 
house  for  the  last  time,  before  any  one  else  was 
stirring. 

He  had  thought  his  good-byes  all  said,  but  a 
thrush,  not  to  be  outdone,  called  out  "Farewell," 
from  a  lilac  bush.  A  light  breeze  blowing  over 
a  bed  of  wallflowers  stirred  his  silver  curls  and 
wafted  a  kiss  of  fragrance  to  him.  A  blush  rose 
bush  beside  the  porch,  blown  by  the  breeze  against 
his  coat,  thrust  a  half-opened  bud  into  his  hand. 
He  stooped  and  plucked  it  tenderly  and  laid  it  in 
his  pocket-book,  placing  it  back  beside  his  burst- 
ing heart. 

With  firm  step  and  head  erect  he  passed  on, 


246  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

through  the  young  greenery  of  the  beech-trees,  to 
a  short  cut  which  led  through  the  meadow  to  the 
main  road.  As  his  foot  struck  the  metal  of  the 
road  Donald  Dhu  heard  it  and  whinnied.  But 
the  Laird  looked  neither  to  the  right  side  nor  to 
the  left.  With  a  firm  hand  he  tied  up  the  gate 
of  the  field  with  its  piece  of  hempen  rope,  thus 
closing  the  gates  of  his  earthly  paradise  with  his 
own  hand.  He  said  softly  to  himself  as  he  did 
so: — 

•"  Thy  spirit  is  good;  lead  me  into  the  land  of 
uprightness  ...  to  the  promise  of  an  eternal  in- 
heritance .  .  .  incorruptible,  undefiled  and  that 
fadeth  not  away. 

"  'Happy  is  he  ...  whose  hope  is  in  the  Lord 
his  God.'  " 

Then  with  his  face  set  towards  the  silences  of  the 
everlasting  hills,  now  lying  bathed  in  the  glory 
of  the  morning  sun,  he  walked  through  dewy 
hedgerows,  white  with  scented  hawthorn,  into 
the  "young  plantation,"  and,  emerging  from  it  on 
the  other  side,  he  passed  on  to  his  conflict  alone, 
up  on  the  moors,  where  there  were  only  the  cur- 
lews to  see  him. 

He  looked  back  once  before  he  went  quite  out 
of  sight  of  his  earthly  Eden.  A  glint  of  brilliant 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  GATES      247 

sunshine  shone  on  the  white  bill  of  sale  pasted  on 
the  gate-post.  That  was  the  cruellest  stab  of  all. 
He  turned  his  face  quickly  away  from  it,  and 
strode  on  fiercely  for  a  few  minutes,  pierced  to  the 
heart.  For  that  was  to  him  as  the  sword  of  the 
angel  barring  the  entrance. 

But  when,  in  the  evening  of  that  same  day,  he 
reached  the  widow's  cottage  in  the  little  village 
amongst  the  hills,  and  the  two  small  rooms,  which 
were  now  to  be  his  home  for  the  rest  of  his  life, 
till  in  the  fulness  of  time  God  called  him  to  that 
other  inheritance  awaiting  him,  he  met  her  anx- 
ious looks  with  gentle,  smiling  ones.  No  trace 
of  the  long  day's  anguish  remained  on  his  calm 
face,  but  on  it  there  shone  the  peace  of  a  great 
renunciation. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SCOTTISH    MARTYRS 

THERE  came  a  year  of  changes  after  the 
Laird  closed  the  gates  of  his  earthly  Eden 
with  his  own  hands.  It  was  a  changing  year  for 
every  one  concerned. 

Sometimes  it  seems  as  if  the  kaleidoscope  of 
life  is  shaken  violently  by  an  unseen  hand.  All 
the  pieces,  hitherto  remaining  in  the  same  quiet 
positions,  change  places  and  alter  their  points  of 
view  without  any  of  them  being  missing.  In  the 
life  of  Elspeth  and  her  friends  during  that  year 
no  old  ones  passed  away.  Nevertheless  every- 
thing changed. 

To  begin  with,  she  had  her  eighth  birthday, 
and  consequently  reached  the  age  limit  of  the 
Misses  Stewarts'  school.  Something  else  had  to 
be  arranged,  some  other  fields  and  pastures  of  edu- 
cation had  to  be  provided  for  her. 

Grandfather  went  to  the  grand  final  "break- 
ing-up"  at  the  Select  Seminary  in  the  square,  as 

representing  the  family,  Elspeth's  father  being 

248 


SCOTTISH  MARTYRS  249 

engaged  in  business  in  London.  (It  was  strange 
how  much  business  he  had  to  take  him  to  London 
about  that  time.)  Grandfather  and  she  came 
away  together  from  the  Misses  Stewarts'  literally 
with  flying  colours — at  least  grandfather  did. 
For  Elspeth,  having  refused  to  part  with  her  hard- 
won  prizes,  with  the  precious  Good  Conduct  one 
lying  on  the  top,  he  was  perforce  obliged  to  carry 
home  all  the  trophies  of  her  industry  in  the  shape 
of  penwipers,  markers,  kettle-holders,  and  needle- 
books  of  wool-work  and  perforated  cardboard. 
Indeed,  so  gaily  be-ribboned  was  the  Elder  that 
he  came  down  the  square  in  a  perfect  flutter  of 
colours,  purple,  red,  blue,  green,  pink,  and  yellow, 
looking  positively  rakish.  The  hand,  with  which 
he  raised  his  hat  on  leaving  Miss  Maria  Stewart 
at  the  door,  went  up  to  it  fluttering  in  all  the 
colours  of  the  rainbow. 

Miss  Maria  had  called  him  back,  as  it  was  her 
custom  to  have  a  few  private  words  with  the 
parents  of  any  pupil  who  was  leaving  only  on 
account  of  the  age  limit. 

"You  see,  Mr.  Grant,"  she  explained,  "we 
have  to  make  a  limit.  My  father,  whom  you  may 
remember  (he  was  the  Independent  minister  in 
this  town),  used  to  say  that  the  world  would  be 


250  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

a  much  easier  place  to  live  in  if  people  would  only 
recognise  their  limitations.  So  my  sister  and  I 
have  tried  to  recognise  ours.  We  are  not  accom- 
plished, Mr.  Grant,  and  do  not  pretend  to  be. 
We  leave  that  for  our  youngest  sister,  who  has 
been  governess,  as  you  know,  for  many  years  in 
the  family  of  Lord  B . 

"But  I  do  profess  to  be  able  to  teach  English, 
and  to  ground  my  pupils  thoroughly  in  their  own 
language.  And  my  sister  endeavours  to  inculcate 
a  love  for  the  fine  arts  in  a  very  much  neglected 
sphere  of  ladies'  education  nowadays,  namely, 
needlework,  both  ornamental  and  plain.  Our 
pupils  succeed,  sir,  in  other  departments  when  they 
leave  us.  Eight  is  a  very  good  age  to  begin  the 
lighter  branches  of  education.  It  is  neither  too 
late  nor  too  early,  and  we  have  the  assurance  that 
they  have  been  thoroughly  grounded  in  the  rudi- 
ments of  learning. 

"Oh,  yes.  Your  little  granddaughter  has  very 
good  abilities  indeed,  and  will  succeed  if  she  ap- 
plies herself.  But  she  is  very  mischievous;  and 
I  confess  it  is  an  astonishment  to  me  that  she 
carries  off  the  Conduct  Prize. 

"Oh  no,  I  don't  mean  to  say  it  is  undeserved. 
Our  system  of  marks  is  very  fair.  The  prize  goes 


SCOTTISH  MARTYRS  251 

to  the  one  who  has  had  no  bad  tickets  for  the 
whole  year.  But  I  don't  know  how  Elspeth  has 
steered  clear  this  year,  I  am  sure.  She  has  been 
sailing  pretty  near  the  wind  several  times." 

Here  the  old  gentleman  perceived  Elspeth 
prancing  with  impatience  at  the  gate,  and  know- 
ing Miss  Maria  to  be  somewhat  long-winded,  her 
conversational  powers,  when  once  fairly  started 
on  her  scholastic  hobby,  knowing  no  limitations 
whatever,  said  "Good  day"  rather  hastily. 

The  Dragon  had  argued  with  Elspeth  before 
she  left  home  that  morning  that  she  would  never 
get  the  Conduct  Prize  if  she  lived  to  be  the  age 
of  Methuselah,  so  she  did  not  know  how  to  re- 
strain herself  now  from  running  away  from  her 
grandfather  to  show  her  hard-won  victory. 

In  August  the  little  family  went  to  Arran,  both 
houses  being  locked  up,  the  Elder's  housekeeper 
going  north  to  her  own  people  for  a  holiday.  As 
Elspeth's  father  wanted  to  go  on  fishing  and  walk- 
ing expeditions,  he  had  chosen  a  cottage  in  a  re- 
mote, little-frequented  corner  of  the  island.  It 
stood  perched  up  on  a  rocky  promontory,  like  the 
nest  of  the  golden  eagle  which  they  could  see  not 
very  far  away,  and  looked  down  over  a  wide  sweep 
of  sea  and  rock-bound  coast,  and  it  had  a  zigzag 


252  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

private  path  which  led  through  a  stunted  wood 
to  the  seashore.  It  was  a  month  of  unalloyed 
delight  to  Elspeth,  so  far  as  afternoons  and  even- 
ings were  concerned.  Of  the  mornings  she  pre- 
ferred not  to  think.  For  then  she  had  to  bathe. 

It  was  by  no  means  the  same  kind  of  bathing 
as  that  in  the  Laird's  deligthful  dam.  First  of 
all  she  had  to  undress  in  the  lee  of  a  rock  on  the 
beach,  and  clothe  herself,  shivering,  in  a  cotton 
nightgown.  In  vain  she  begged  for  one  of  her 
winter  flannel  ones.  The  Dragon  refused  to  en- 
courage such  extravagance,  as  she  said  the  sea- 
water  would  "shrink"  them. 

The  weather  was  very  cold  for  the  time  of  year. 
It  was  more  like  October  than  August,  and  the 
wind  blew  from  whatever  quarter  it  was  not 
wanted  to  blow.  Small  garments  rose  fluttering 
in  the  air  as  fast  as  they  were  taken  off,  and  had 
to  be  captured,  and  kept  down  by  heavy  stones, 
as  Elspeth  slowly  undressed.  Through  it  all 
there  was  the  misery  of  anticipation  of  what  was 
to  corne.  The  Dragon  kept  up  a  running  com- 
mentary of  remarks  from  the  other  side  of  the  rock 
on  her  slowness. 

"What  a  time  you  are!     Hurry  now!     You 


SCOTTISH  MARTYRS  253 

know  it  takes  you  about  ten  minutes  to  get  down 
to  the  sea.     Your  feet  seem  so  tender." 

"What  was  that  blew  away  just  now4?  You're 
letting  your  clothes  blow  away  on  purpose,  just 
to  take  up  time  running  after  them.  They'll  be 
blowing  into  the  sea  next." 

At  last  Elspeth  could  dally  no  longer,  and  had 
to  start  by  herself  for  the  detested  water.  She 
trod  slowly  and  gingerly  on  the  stones  with  her 
bare  feet,  but  was  generally  caught  up  and  seized 
by  the  hand  by  the  Dragon  long  before  she 
reached  the  sea. 

An  almost  unrecognisable  Dragon,  disguised 
for  contact  with  the  ocean  wave  nearly  as  much 
as  a  professional  diver.  A  huge,  shapeless  cap  of 
black  india-rubber  encircled  her  head  and  ears, 
drawn  tight  with  tape  round  her  neck  and  over 
her  forehead.  A  long,  shapeless,  sack-like  robe 
of  thick  blue  flannel,  with  slits  left  in  the  seams 
for  the  arms,  hung  in  classic  looseness  from  an- 
other string  round  her  neck,  enveloping  her  form 
from  head  to  foot.  (Directoire  bathing-costumes 
were  not  in  it  in  those  days.)  An  unruly  robe  it 
was  too  when  it  was  wet  and  heavy,  always  try- 
ing to  get  away  from  its  tethering  string,  and  slip- 


254  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

ping  off  first  one  shoulder,  then  the  other,  and 
having  to  be  dragged  up  again. 

"Come  away,  now,  be  brave,"  said  Janet  en- 
couragingly, as  she  dragged  the  reluctant  cotton- 
clad  figure  into  the  sea.  "Think  of  the  Wigtown 
martyrs,  that  you  are  so  fond  of  hearing  about, 
how  brave  they  were.  And  they  were  not  much 
older  than  you.  Agnes  Wilson  was  just  twelve. 
You  wouldn't  be  a  coward,  would  you?" 

"But  they  didn't — dr-own — Agnes,"  chattered 
the  teeth  of  Elspeth. 

"No,  and  I  am  not  going  to  drown  you.  But 
they  drowned  Margaret,  and  she  was  only 
eighteen.  There  is  not  much  difference  between 
eight  and  eighteen."  (Isn't  there1?) 

"Oh,  nonsense,  now,  that  wasn't  a  cutty  stone 
at  all.  You'll  find  the  stones  won't  cut  when  you 
get  in  deeper.  Come  away." 

A  big  wave  at  this  moment  raced  in  at  full 
speed  and  hit  them  both  a  violent  blow,  taking 
away  Elspeth's  breath  and  nearly  knocking  her 
down. 

"Were  the  waves  in  the  Sol  way  as  horr-horr- 
horrible  as  these*?"  she  asked,  after  a  few  more 
steps  had  been  taken  and  they  stopped  a  few  mo- 
ments for  the  preliminary  performance  of  damp- 


SCOTTISH  MARTYRS  255 

ing  Elspeth's  head,  the  Dragon's  waterproof  en- 
casement on  hers  rendering  her  impervious  to  tak- 
ing cold. 

"Oh,  the  waves  were  far  worse  than  these.  The 
tide  in  the  Solway  races  in  faster  than  a  man 
can  gallop  on  horseback,"  said  Janet,  dragging 
her  charge  in  a  little  deeper. 

"Then  they  wouldn't  take  long  to  dr-r-own," 
said  Elspeth,  glad  to  talk  so  as  to  gain  time. 

"Oh  yes,  they  did.  They  were  at  the  part 
where  it  doesn't  come  in  fast,  and  they  were  tied 
to  stakes.  It  had  to  come  creeping  up — and  up 
— and  up — slowly.  And  they  sang  Psalms  and 
were  brave." 

"Not  like  me,"  said  Elspeth.  "But  I  think  I 
could  hang  easier  than  drown.  I  would  be  braver 
over  hanging.  Am  I  not  in  deep  enough  yet,  do 
you  think*?" 

"Yes,  I  think  you  are.  Now  then,  shut  your 
mouth  and  eyes,  and  you  are  to  come  up  all  by 
yourself  when  I  put  you  down.  And  you  are 
not  to  cling  on  to  me,  mind." 

Elspeth  obeyed  by  clenching  her  teeth  firmly 
together  and  shutting  her  eyes.  But  she  forgot 
to  close  her  lips,  so  as  she  went  down  bodily  into 
the  clear  green  water,  surrendering  herself  into 


256  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

Janet's  firm  hands  with  a  silent  prayer  for  courage, 
there  was  the  gleam  of  a  whole  row  of  small  teeth 
visible  even  until  she  reached  the  very  bottom. 
The  result  was  that  she  came  up  choking  and  gur- 
gling, gasping  for  breath,  clutching  on  to  Janet 
as  with  a  death-grip. 

Janet  was  a  woman  of  many  theories,  gastro- 
nomic and  otherwise,  from  castor-oil  every  fort- 
night, to  cupfuls  of  sea-water  to  be  drunk  every 
morning  before  breakfast  at  the  seaside,  which 
accustomed  you  to  the  taste  of  salt  water,  previ- 
ous to  swallowing  gallons  of  it  while  bathing. 
One  of  her  theories  was  that  it  taught  a  child  to 
float — as  a  preliminary  to  swimming — to  put  it 
down  on  its  back  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and 
then  leave  go  and  let  it  come  up  by  itself.  It 
gave  it  confidence  to  feel  the  buoyancy  of  the 
sea-water,  she  thought. 

But  oh !  nobody  knows  what  a  horrible  sensa- 
tion that  is  unless  they  try  it.  To  feel  oneself 
in  the  grasp  of  something  very  strong  and  very 
firm  as  you  go  down,  then  to  have  your  clinging 
clasp  relaxed  (with  a  slap  to  make  you  leave  go, 
if  necessary),  and  to  be  left  struggling  in  the 
mighty  ocean,  with  your  feet  slipping  away  from 
you  whenever  you  try  to  use  them ! 


SCOTTISH  MARTYRS  257 

Elspeth  came  up  spluttering  every  time,  implor- 
ing not  to  be  put  down  again. 

"If  I  might  just  lie  down  by  myself,  Janet.  I 
would  lie  down,  really,  truly,  on  my  honour.  Or 
if  you'd  let  me  have  a  flannel  nightgown  on  next 
time  it  wouldn't  be  quite  so  bad.  Please  Janet," 
she  implored.  "Dear  Janet.  Oh !" 

Down  she  went  again.     Janet  had  no  mercy. 

"Better  get  it  over,"  she  said,  as  Elspeth  came 
up  the  second  time,  and  popped  her  down  the 
third  time  before  she  had  time  to  gasp  out  a  word. 

Then  she  was  told  to  go  and  "play  herself," 
while  Janet  did  her  own  personal  dumb-crambo 
show  of  bobbing  up  and  down  in  the  sea.  As 
if  any  one  could  "play  themselves"  after  that! 
Elspeth  went  to  the  edge  of  the  water  and  wept 
and  shivered  there  every  day  till  Janet  came  out, 
hurt  pride  battling  with  cold  and  suffocation. 

"You  are  really  the  biggest  coward  I  ever  came 
across,"  was  Janet's  daily  remark,  as  she  dragged 
the  blue  and  weeping  bather  up  the  stony  beach 
to  the  natural  dressing-room  behind  the  rocks. 
"The  very  biggest.  Take  no  notice  of  the  cutty 
stones,  as  you  call  them.  Walk  fast  and  then 
you  won't  feel  them." 

But  that  ordeal  over  in  the  morning,  there  was 


258  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

nothing  but  unalloyed  pleasure  for  the  rest  of  the 
day.  As  soon  as  Elspeth  was  dressed  (the  gar- 
ments never  blew  away  during  the  dressing  proc- 
ess, however  windy  it  was,  strange  to  say,)  she 
ran  straight  like  a  dart  to  where,  in  modest  and 
discreet  seclusion,  grandfather  waited  for  her  on 
the  other  side  of  the  wood.  Waited,  not  empty- 
handed  either,  but  with  a  bag  full  of  gingerbread 
nuts,  which  he  had  walked  a  mile  to  the  village 
post  office  to  buy  for  her,  having  great  faith  in 
the  efficacy  of  gingerbread  as  a  "cluttering  bite." 

"I  have  found  out  the  reason  why  grandpapa 
and  I  are  such  good  friends,"  announced  Elspeth 
suddenly  one  evening  to  her  father.  "Sometimes 
you  are  cross  with  me  and  we  have  little  tiffs,  don't 
we,  father?  But  grandpapa  and  I  never  have 
any." 

"For  a  very  easy  reason  to  find  out,"  said  her 
father.  "He  gives  you  your  own  way  in  every 
single  thing.  You  couldn't  very  well  have  tiffs 
with  anybody  like  that." 

"I  suppose  you  think  she  doesn't  manage  you 
as  well  as  me,"  remarked  grandfather  dryly. 

"Oh,  but  that  is  not  the  reason  at  all,"  said 
Elspeth  hastily,  not  desiring  to  hear  any  discus- 


SCOTTISH  MARTYRS  259 

sions  on  that  point.  "The  reason  is  that  grand- 
papa and  I  are  both  such  terrible  cowards." 

The  Elder's  Highland  blood  flushed  into  his 
old  cheeks  hotly. 

"I'd  like  to  see  the  man  who  would  dare  to 
say  that  to  me,"  said  he.  "Explain  yourself,  if 
you  please,  miss." 

"Well,  you  see,  grandpapa,  it  is  quite  easy. 
It's  like  parsing.  You  have  just  got  to  change 
the  preposition.  I  am  terrified  in  the  water,  and 
you  are  terrified  on  it,"  said  Elspeth,  airing  her 
newly-acquired  grammar. 

Her  father  laughed  loudly.  The  Elder  joined 
in  feebly  in  an  attempt  to  laugh  at  his  own  ex- 
pense. For  indeed  it  was  quite  true.  As  Els- 
peth's  morning  ordeal  waned  in  the  background, 
so  did  her  grandfather's  evening  one  wax  large 
in  the  horizon  as  it  drew  near. 

The  Elder,  being  an  inland-bred  man  with  no 
boating  experience,  had  a  perfect  abhorrence  of 
boats  of  all  kinds  smaller  than  steamers,  preferring 
deep-sea-going  ones  even  at  that,  as  being  stronger 
than  the  others.  To  trust  precious  lives  in  the 
frail  cockle-shells  which  Elspeth  and  her  father 
were  in  the  habit  of  frequenting  in  the  evenings, 


260  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

with  but  a  plank  between  them  and  eternity,  was 
in  his  eyes  a  fair  tempting  of  Providence. 

At  first  he  flatly  refused  to  accompany  them 
on  their  boating  expeditions,  and  stood  wringing 
his  hands  on  the  shelving  rock  from  which  they 
had  pushed  off  till  they  were  out  of  sight.  Until 
one  night,  when  they  went  out  against  all  his  per- 
suasions in  what  he  called  "rough  weather,"  but 
what  they  said  was  "just  nice."  The  agonies 
of  mind  which  the  old  man  went  through  as  he 
saw  his  beloved  ones  tossing  in  their  frail  bark, 
now  perched  up  on  the  top  of  a  breaker,  now  van- 
ishing altogether  in  the  trough  of  the  sea,  made 
him  resolve  that  if  they  were  determined  to  perish 
in  a  watery  grave  they  should  not  go  to  the  bot- 
tom without  him.  The  next  evening  he  slipped, 
unobserved,  into  the  kitchen  and  handed  his  gold 
watch  and  chain  to  Janet. 

"I  am  going  with  them  to-night,"  he  said.  "If 
we  come  back  safe  and  sound,  please  God,  I'll 
have  my  watch  and  chain  back  again.  If  not, 
you  need  not  hand  it  to  my  executors.  I  have  left 
a  note  for  them  in  my  pocket-book  in  my  room 
explaining  about  it.  You  can  just  keep  it  for 
yourself,  Janet,  for  looking  after  the  child.  I 


SCOTTISH  MARTYRS  261 

have  not  always  approved  of  your  methods,  as 
you  know,  for  I  have  not  scrupled  to  speak  my 
mind  to  you  sometimes,  but  your  intentions,  I  am 
aware,  regarding  her  have  been  good.  You  have 
been  faithful  to  your  duties  both  to  your  master 
and  to  her." 

And  he  walked  away  down  the  hill  after  the 
giddy  boating  couple  with  the  firm  tramp  of  the 
Highlander  on  his  way  to  execution.  The  very 
swing  of  his  coat-tails  was  reminiscent  of  the  kilts 
of  his  ancestors,  as  they  swung  into  their  northern 
forays  with  the  fierce  cry  of: — "A  Grant  to  the 
rescue."  Or  its  equivalent  in  Gaelic. 

The  last  week  of  that  month  in  Arran  was 
absolute  perfection,  and  stood  out  in  Elspeth's 
memory  in  after  years  as  if  glorified  by  the  rays 
of  a  setting  sun.  Summer  seemed  to  have  come 
back,  the  air  was  balmy  and  soft,  and  the  sea  was 
like  a  lake. 

Then,  in  the  first  place,  she  had  the  great  good 
fortune,  while  hovering  near  the  edge  of  the  sea 
after  bathing,  to  tread  on  a  small  jellyfish  and  get 
her  foot  stung.  Her  father,  on  being  appealed 
to,  said  she  need  not  bathe  any  more. 

"I  verily  believe  you  did  it  on  purpose,  so  as 


262  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

to  get  let  off  bathing,"  said  the  suspicious  Dragon, 
as  she  bathed  and  bandaged  the  slightly  swollen 
foot. 

"I  truly  didn't." 

"Well,  you  had  no  business  stopping  at  the 
edge  and  crying  as  you  did.  If  you  had  been 
in  deeper  you  would  have  seen  it  floating  about. 
If  it  had  been  a  big  one  you  would  have  known 
it.  It  must  have  been  a  very  little  one." 

"It  was  a  little  one.     I  said  it  was." 

"Well,  you  made  enough  noise  over  it.  You 
couldn't  have  made  more  if  a  shark  had  got  hold 
of  you.  A  big  girl  like  you  squealing  out  like 
that!  You  ought  to  think  shame  of  yourself. 
You  are  a  coward,  really." 

"I  wish  you  saw  grandpapa  holding  on  to  the 
edge  of  the  boat  at  nights,"  said  Elspeth  irrele- 
vantly. 

The  Dragon  disdained  to  reply  to  this  remark. 

"He  jumps  up  if  he  sees  a  big  lump  of  sea- 
weed coming.  Father  says  if  we  are  all  in  the 
water  one  of  these  nights  he  won't  be  surprised. 
And  it  will  be  grandpapa  who  has  done  it.  He 
nearly  upsets  the  whole  hypothec  every  time." 

Janet  remained  silent,  and  Elspeth,  having  suc- 
cessfully introduced  a  long  word  into  her  sentence, 


SCOTTISH  MARTYRS  263 

and  apparently  clinched  the  argument  at  the  same 
time,  looked,  as  she  felt,  extremely  virtuous. 

In  the  second  place,  the  Laird  came  to  spend 
that  last  week  with  them,  and  with  her  three 
lovers  all  at  once  Elspeth  was  in  her  element. 

If  her  father  and  the  Laird  went  off  on  walking 
tours  which  involved  a  whole  day's  absence  to- 
gether, she  and  her  grandfather  gathered  shells  on 
the  beach,  made  crabs  run  races,  and  ate  ginger- 
snaps  to  their  heart's  content,  coolly  ignoring 
Janet's  cutting  remarks  on  their  having  no  ap- 
petites at  dinner-time. 

If  the  Laird  happened  to  be  the  one  who  was 
left  behind,  Elspeth,  leaning  heavily  on  his  arm 
(for  she  became  lamer  every  day  after  his  tender 
inquiry,  "How  is  the  poor  foot  this  morning, 
dearie1?"),  roamed  with  him  in  the  woods,  look- 
ing for  ferns  and  listening  to  the  legend  of  the 
Osmunda  Regis.  No  one  could  tell  stories  like 
the  Laird.  He  peopled  every  glen  with  fairies 
and  pixies,  and  you  had  only  to  walk  with  him 
to  hear  the  dryads  whispering  amongst  the  trees, 
and  the  gnomes  knocking  in  their  subterranean 
passages  under  the  hills.  There  was  the  lepre- 
chaun sitting  on  a  whin-bush,  flitting  farther  away 
as  you  came  nearer,  vanishing  with  mocking  laugh- 


264  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

ter  into  rocky  crevices.  And  there  were  witches 
and  warlocks  tobogganing  down  the  course  of  the 
waterfall  in  the  wood  at  the  back  of  the  house,  if 
you  only  knew  the  right  time  of  the  day  to  go  and 
look  for  them. 

With  her  father  Elspeth  was  seldom  alone,  the 
two  old  gentlemen — if  one  might  use  such  an  ad- 
jective in  describing  septuagenarians  who  were 
still  in  the  prime  of  their  youthful  vigour — not 
having,  perhaps,  very  much  in  common. 

For  although  the  Elder  looked  up  to  the  gentle 
and  dignified  Laird,  greatly  admiring  him  as  a 
man  of  learning  and  a  fine  classical  scholar,  he 
privately  rather  despised  him  for  his  poor  busi- 
ness capabilities. 

"If  that  fine  land,  lying  in  the  midst  of  such  a 
fertile  strath,  had  been  mine,  I  would  not  have 
parted  with  it  in  any  such  quixotic  fashion,"  he 
would  say.  "I  know  nothing  at  all  about  fann- 
ing, having  been  chained  to  a  desk  all  my  life, 
but  I  would  have  applied  myself  to  studying  it 
and  redeeming  the  bonds.  I  would  not  have 
parted  with  the  property.  Besides,  here  am  I, 
with  capital  lying  by,  and  nobody  belonging  to 
me  except  the  child,  I  would  have  been  only  too 
glad  to  have  advanced  it.  It  might  as  well  have 


SCOTTISH  MARTYRS  265 

been  invested  in  that  land,  which  has  belonged 
to  her  forebears  for  generations,  as  anywhere  else, 
and  I  would  only  have  charged  a  small  percentage 
of  interest  for  it.  None  at  all,  if  he  would  have 
let  me.  But  no,  he  must  follow  out  his  own  ob- 
stinate, quixotic  ideas.  Highland  pride,  I  call 
it — sheer  folly." 

The  Laird,  on  his  part,  was  slightly  nervous  in 
the  presence  of  the  keen,  hard-headed  man  of 
business.  But  the  two  gentlemen  were  vastly 
polite  to  each  other,  after  the  manner  of  their 
more  courteous  generation,  saying,  "After  you, 
sir,"  with  a  low  bow,  every  evening  on  the  shelv- 
ing rock,  while  the  boat  waited  for  them  on  the 
dancing  waves  underneath,  until  several  times 
they  were  in  danger  of  both  being  left  behind  to- 
gether. 

The  Elder  waxed  quite  valiant  when  he  saw 
the  Laird's  fine  stroke  at  the  oar,  and  sat  in  the 
stern,  holding  firmly  to  the  skirts  of  his  wriggling 
grandchild,  whose  services  had  been  dispensed 
with,  with  a  comparatively  easy  expression  of 
countenance. 

"You  are  a  fine  oarsman,  sir,"  he  compli- 
mented the  Laird.  "I  could  almost  enjoy  boat- 
ing with  you.  But  when  it  comes  to  Elspeth  and 


266  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

her  father  rowing  it  is  absolute  misery  to  me. 
Hugh  is  young  and  rash  and  very  erratic  in  his 

performances.     While    as    for    the    child ! 

What  between  their  seafaring  expressions  to  each 
other,  picked  out  of  some  nautical  storybook,  I 
don't  doubt,  and  their  contradictory  orders  of 
"larboard,"  "starboard,"  "feather  your  oars," 
"backwater,"  and  so  on,  I  don't  know  where  I 
am.  I  just  sit  and  mutter  savage  expressions  to 
myself  in  Gaelic  all  the  time.  The  only  thing  I 
do  understand  is  "feathering  oars,"  for  that  means 
I  get  a  ducking  from  head  to  foot,  every  time 
Elspeth  raises  her  oar  in  some  fantastic  fashion  in 
obedience  to  her  father's  orders.  I  see  no  sense 
in  the  thing  at  all.  But  it  is  quite  different  when 
you  are  there,  sir.  I  could  almost  enjoy  it." 

Indeed  it  was  very  beautiful,  and  only  lasted 
too  short  a  time.  To  see  the  sun  setting  over 
the  sea,  casting  its  rays  of  glory  around  the  hills, 
touching,  as  with  loving  reverence,  the  two  vener- 
able heads,  as,  hatless,  they  let  the  breeze  play 
over  their  crowns  of  beautiful  silver  hair — curly 
and  straight — was  a  sight  to  live  in  the  memory 
for  ever. 

That  last  week  ended  only  too  soon,  and  one 
bright  morning  you  might  have  seen  them  all 


SCOTTISH  MARTYRS  267 

packed  in  the  big  ferry-boat,  waiting  for  the 
steamer  to  take  them  home.  The  Dragon  count- 
ing boxes  and  fussing  over  the  luggage,  for  fear 
she  had  left  anything  behind.  Elspeth,  with  a 
big  pickle-jar  full  of  sea-anemones  and  salt  water 
on  her  lap,  which  she  was  constantly  spilling, 
either  over  herself  or  some  one  else.  Her  father 
looking  regretfully  at  the  receding  cliffs,  whistling 
hard — boyish  fashion — to  conceal  his  feelings  of 
regret  at  leaving.  The  Laird  watching  the  sea- 
gulls swoop  down  to  eat  the  crumbs  he  had 
brought  for  them  in  his  capacious  pockets.  And 
grandfather  holding  on  to  what  he  called  a  "tirl- 
pin,"  in  preparation  for  the  wash  of  the  waves 
from  the  big  steamer  from  Campbeltown,  as  it 
came  up  to  them,  hooting  proudly. 

Then  at  last  they  were  all  safely  transferred 
to  its  decks,  bag  and  baggage,  a  family  of  irre- 
sponsibles  (more  or  less),  the  only  level  head 
amongst  them  being  that  of  the  Dragon.  And  so 
to  Glasgow  and  home. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

FAREWELL    TO    BARBARISM 

IT  was  the  week  after  they  reached  home  that 
the  news  came  to  Elspeth,  which,  to  use  her 
own  somewhat  quaint  phraseology,  seemed  to 
come  upon  her  "just  like  a  thunder-plump,"  and 
took  her  breath  away  completely,  rendering  her 
giddy  and  bewildered  for  the  rest  of  her  holidays 
in  that  old  familiar  grey  house  in  the  square,  which 
had  been  her  home  all  her  life. 

For  then  her  father  broke  to  her  very  tenderly 
and  gently,  but  with  much  inward  trepidation  and 
some  expectation  of  arguments  and  tears,  that  it 
had  been  decided  to  send  her  to  a  boarding-school 
at  the  beginning  of  the  new  term. 

He  drew  her  very  close  to  him  as  he  did  so, 
resting  his  dark  moustache  against  her  ruddy  hair, 
so  that  he  might  not  see  the  expression  of  her 
face,  prepared  to  be  very  sympathetic  and  tender, 
but  very  firm. 

But,  greatly  to  his  surprise,  Elspeth  took  it  (out- 
wardly) very  quietly.  It  was  those  constant,  un- 

268 


FAREWELL  TO  BARBARISM      269 

expected  surprises  which  she  was  continually  giv- 
ing him,  that  made  him  feel  so  helpless  with  this 
strange  woman-child  of  his. 

She  was  only  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  asked  in  very  subdued  tones,  with  a  little 
quiver  of  her  lips : 

"Have  I  not  been  a  good  girl  then,  father, 
that  you  are  going  to  send  me  away  from  you*?" 

"Oh  yes,  you  have  been  a  very  good  girl.  But, 
you  see,  grandpapa  and  I  think  you  have  been 
long  enough  at  home  here  alone  with  Janet.  And 
the  new  mother  who  is  coming — she  has  to  be  con- 
sidered now  too,  you  know — thinks  we  are  all 
barbarians  up  here  in  the  north.  She  seems  to 
think  we  are  only  half-civilised  yet  in  Scotland. 
So  I  would  like  to  get  you  polished  up  a  little  be- 
fore she  comes." 

"And  will  you  be  going  to  some  sort  of  a  grown- 
up school  too,  father4?"  she  asked,  presently. 

He  laughed  at  that,  and  shook  his  head. 

"No.  I  think  she  will  have  to  take  me  in 
hand  and  polish  me  up  herself  when  she  comes 
here.  But  you  are  different.  And  grandpapa 
and  I  don't  care  very  much  for  any  of  the  ladies' 
boarding-schools  in  this  town." 

Elspeth  looked  aghast  at  that. 


270  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

' 'Where  am  I  going  to  then,  father*?" 

"You  are  going  away  to  London  to  school. 
To  a  very  fine  school  in  the  West  End,  near  Hyde 
Park,  which  Miss  Lilian  has  found  for  you. 
Where  the  young  ladies  go  for  rides  in  Rotten 
Row  twice  a  week  with  their  riding-master,  and 
you  will  be  able  to  walk  with  your  young  com- 
panions by  the  banks  of  the  Serpentine,  that  you 
are  so  fond  of  talking  about,  every  day  of  your 
life." 

And  that  was  what  took  Elspeth's  breath  away. 
To  go  to  London,  and  see  Queen  Victoria  with  her 
crown  on.  To  get  into  personal  touch,  so  to 
speak,  with  her  most  Gracious  Majesty!  To 
walk  on  those  golden  streets  and  meet  the  ladies 
glittering  with  diamonds  and  precious  stones,  as 
she  had  read  about  in  descriptions  of  the  drawing- 
rooms  at  Buckingham  Palace.  Think  of  it,  staid, 
Scottish  stay-at-homes ! 

There  were  only  three  weeks  remaining  of  her 
time  at  home,  and  they  passed  in  a  perfect  whirl. 
Dressmakers,  milliners,  shoe-makers,  box-makers, 
all  were  requisitioned  in  haste. 

The  Dragon  wiped  her  eyes  silently,  as  she 
washed  and  ironed  for  her  charge,  and  was 


FAREWELL  TO  BARBARISM      271 

strangely  gentle  as  she  packed  familiar  and  fa- 
vourite belongings  into  the  new  boxes. 

Elspeth  flew  backwards  and  forwards  in  a  tre- 
mendous state  of  excitement,  between  her  grand- 
father's house  and  her  own.  He  had  presents 
waiting  for  her  every  day. 

"Look  at  the  beautiful  case  he  has  given  me 
for  writing  my  letters  to  him.  Real  morocco, 
look,  and  all  the  envelopes  and  paper  are  stamped 
with  my  initials  on.  And  there  are  five  shillings' 
worth  of  stamps.  That  means  a  letter  to  him 
every  week  for  a  year,  he  says,  and  eight  extra 
ones  for  birthdays  and  things,"  chattered  Elspeth 
to  Janet,  when  she  came  bounding  in  one  day. 

"And  look,"  she  said  another  day,  "he's  given 
me  'Ministering  Children,'  and  he  says  I  am  to 
be  careful  when  I  open  it,  for  it  is  not  very  well 
bound.  Why  is  he  giving  me  a  new  book  not 
very  well  bound,  do  you  think*?" 

"I  think  we'd  better  look  and  see,"  said  the 
careful  Janet,  untying  the  parcelL  And  there 
was  a  beautiful  copy  of  "Ministering  Children," 
but  when  you  shook  it  you  found  it  was,  as 
grandfather  said,  not  very  well  bound,  for  five 
new,  crisp,  single  pound  notes  came  fluttering 


272  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

out  of  it,  his  loving  gift  for  his  little  maid  to 
"keep  her  pocket." 

There  were  enough  boxes  of  chocolate  creams 
(which  he  had  been  buying  by  the  dozen  at  a 
time,  ever  since  Hendry  had  initiated  her  into 
the  glories  of  it),  and  shortbread,  and  tins  of 
fancy  biscuits,  sent  around  to  stock  a  siege. 
Elspeth  bid  fair  to  be  popular  amongst  her  school- 
fellows, by  reason  of  the  abundance  of  her  grand- 
father's gifts  to  be  shared  with  them.  For  even 
so  would  he  pave  the  stony  path  of  learning  for 
the  spoilt  darling  of  his  heart. 

The  Laird  also  sent  parting  gifts  to  her  by 
post,  in  the  shape  of  books.  Mrs.  Hemans' 
poems,  and  Moore's,  with  inscriptions  written  on 
the  fly-leaf  in  his  fine,  copper-plate  handwriting, 
announcing  that  they  were : — 

"Presented  to  Miss  Elspeth  Grant  Arnot,  on 
her  departure  for  the  Metropolis." 

There  was  also  a  volume  of  Robert  Burns's 
poems,  so  that  she  might  not  forget  her  nationality 
during  her  residence  in  perfidious  Albion.  But  it 
was  swiftly  confiscated  by  the  Dragon,  and  con- 
signed, with  a  look  of  horror,  to  the  flames  of  per- 
dition at  the  back  of  her  kitchen  range.  That 
unholy  poet ! 


FAREWELL  TO  BARBARISM      273 

Then  the  last  day  at  home  came,  and  with  it 
the  Laird  himself. 

"I  just  couldn't  stay  away,"  he  said  simply. 

The  whole  of  the  quaint  little  family  party 
went  to  the  station  together  to  see  Elspeth  and 
her  father  off  to  London  by  the  night  mail. 

While  her  father  was  busy  arranging  with  the 
guard  for  her  comfort  during  the  night,  making 
up  a  temporary  bed  for  her  in  the  first-class 
carriage  reserved  for  them,  by  means  of  an  ingen- 
ious contrivance  of  planks,  walking-sticks,  and  um- 
brellas, Elspeth  stood  white  and  silent  on  the 
platform  between  her  two  knights-errant. 

Only  now,  after  all  the  excitement  of  the  last 
three  weeks,  had  she  begun  to  realise  that  part- 
ing from  all  her  loved  ones  was  an  inevitable  part 
of  her  going  away  to  London.  Her  grandfather 
stood  holding  her  right  hand  tight  in  his  left. 
The  Laird  had  the  other  almost  swallowed  up  in 
his  large  and  loving  grasp.  Janet  leant  against 
a  pillar  behind  them,  occasionally  wiping  her 
eyes  with  a  clean  pocket-handkerchief  which  she 
had  not  even  taken  the  trouble  to  unfold. 

There  was  a  great  bustle  and  confusion  at  the 
last.  Good-byes  were  hurriedly  said,  and  Elspeth 
was  hastily  lifted  into  the  carriage  beside  her 


274  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

father  by  the  Laird,  who  kissed  her  fondly,  mur- 
muring softly  under  his  breath  as  he  did  so : — 

"  'May  the  Lord  bless  you  and  keep  you,  and 
make  His  face  to  shine  upon  you.'  " 

At  the  very  last  moment  grandfather  came  close 
up  to  the  carriage  window. 

"Come  here  a  minute,"  he  said. 

The  child  obeyed  wonderingly. 

Then  the  Elder  put  his  face  through  the 
carriage  window,  and,  thrusting  aside  all  the 
Scottish  prejudices  engrained  in  him  for  genera- 
tions, kissed  her  thus  publicly,  though  it  was  for 
the  first  and  only  time  in  her  life.  A  good,  loud, 
smacking  kiss  it  was  too,  loud  enough  for  every- 
body round  to  hear.  So  he  had  known  how  to  do 
it  all  the  time ! 

"Stand  back  there,"  shouted  the  stentorian 
tones  of  the  guard,  waving  his  flag. 

Grandfather  stepped  deftly  aside,  and  the  train, 
with  loud  snort  and  puff,  glided  away  with  its 
precious  freight  into  the  unknown,  carrying  with 
it  the  little  Scottish  cairngorm  on  her  way  to  the 
English  lapidaries,  while  her  two  Knights  of  the 
Silver  Hair  were  left  standing  desolate  on  the  plat- 
form, with  the  Dragon  weeping  silently  behind 
them. 


FAREWELL  TO  BARBARISM      275 

"It  can  never  be  the  same  again,"  said  grand- 
father, in  rather  a  husky  tone  of  voice,  as,  after 
speaking  a  few  kindly  words  to  the  disconsolate 
Janet,  he  and  the  Laird  walked  away  together,  the 
latter  having  accepted  his  hospitality  for  the  night. 
"Never  the  same.  For  that  child  is  a  born  mimic, 
and,  without  knowing  it,  speaks  like  whoever  she 
is  with.  I  have  heard  her  speaking  so  High- 
land to  my  housekeeper  that  I  expected  to  hear 
her  break  out  into  Gaelic  every  minute.  And  as 
for  that  Irishman  who  kept  the  boat  down  in  Ar- 
ran — you  remember  him1? — she  had  got  his  brogue 
as  pat  as  himself.  You  would  have  thought  to 
hear  her  she  had  been  kissing  the  Blarney  Stone. 
She'll  take  to  the  English  accent  like  a  duck  takes 
to  the  water,  and  be  clipping  her  words  in  that 
Cockney  style  like  the  rest  of  them  when  she 
comes  back.  And  she  will  never  be  the  same 
simple  Scotch  lassie  again." 

There  were  a  good  many  other  things  which 
would  never  be  the  same  when  she  came  back 
again  besides  her  accent.  But  of  them  grand- 
father said  nothing,  although,  no  doubt,  they 
were  at  the  back  of  his  mind  all  the  time. 

The  Laird  replied  very  sadly : 


276  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

"It  can  certainly  never  be  the  same  again  in 
this  world  to  me." 

As  for  Janet,  she  went  up  to  her  sister's  house 
for  the  night,  and  the  quondam  doorkeeper,  with 
her  new  spouse,  the  beadle,  heard  her  weeping 
through  the  partition  which  separated  their  rooms 
well  on  into  the  small  hours. 

"Hark  till  her!  I  never  thought  she  had  so 
much  affection  in  her,"  whispered  the  wife  to  her 
husband.  "She  was  always  so  hard  on  that  poor 
bairn.  I  think  some  of  it  must  be — re — re — I 
canna  mind  the  word  I  want." 

"Revenge,"  suggested  the  beadle,  who  was 
somewhat  slow  of  wit.  Then  added  reverently, 
as  became  the  one  who  carried  Mr.  Morrison's 
Bible  into  the  pulpit  every  Sabbath:  "'Ven- 
geance is  Mine,  I  will  repay,'  saith  the  Lord." 

"Tuts!"  said  his  wife,  "that's  not  the  word  I 
mean  at  all.  Remorse,  that's  it." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ROSES    AND    FORGET-ME-NOTS 

JANET,  unable  to  bear  the  desolation  of  the 
empty  nest,  with  its  solitary  little  bird  flown, 
left  at  the  ensuing  term,  six  weeks  later.  She 
went  this  time  to  keep  house  for  an  elderly 
widower  in  another  part  of  the  country,  and  did 
not  discover  until  the  night  she  arrived  that  he 
was  a  Unitarian,  and  of  as  rigid  and  unyielding  a 
nature  as  herself.  Stormy  times  were  predicted 
for  them  both. 

Mistress  Kate,  the  Laird's  former  housekeeper, 
came  with  a  young  maid  to  superintend  the  prep- 
aration of  the  house  for  the  bride.  An  army  of 
builders,  painters,  and  paper-hangers  took  posses- 
sion after  Christmas,  and  the  old  grey  house  in 
the  square  became  metamorphosed  in  the  spring. 
A  new  storey  arose  on  the  top  of  it,  with  a  fine 
bay-window  looking  far  out  over  the  river,  and  the 
bridge,  to  where,  on  clear  days,  you  could  see  the 
sea  and  sky  merging  into  one. 

277 


278  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

The  moss  rose  and  lily  of  the  valley  chintz, 
lined  with  rose-pink,  the  Arabian  bedstead,  and 
the  rosebud  paper,  were  accomplished  facts,  wait- 
ing for  Elspeth's  home-coming  in  the  summer  holi- 
days. Her  mother's  piano  was  moved  up  into 
.  the  large  new  room  ready  for  her  to  practise  her 
newly-acquired  accomplishment  on  when  she  liked. 
Her  mother's  work-table,  with  the  unfinished  little 
baby's  frock  in  it,  and  the  gold  thimble,  stood  in 
the  recess  by  the  fireplace.  Her  mother's  paint- 
ings hung  upon  the  wall.  And  the  desk  on  which 
the  young  wife  had  been  wont  to  write  girlish 
letters  in  her  delicate  Italian  hand,  stood  ready 
waiting  for  her  little  daughter  on  a  new  polished 
writing-table  in  the  window. 

"And  I  would  just  like  the  top  of  the  wedding- 
cake  put  in  a  glass  case  on  the  piano,"  wrote 
Elspeth,  in  her  instructions  to  her  father  from 
London;  "and  then  I'll  be  quite  content  with  my 
new  room  when  I  come  home." 

Her  father  unlocked  the  sideboard  in  order  to 
comply  with  her  request.  But  lo!  the  wedding- 
cake  was  gone  bodily,  tin  and  all,  and  he  was 
too  shy,  in  the  circumstances,  to  inquire  what  had 
become  of  it. 

The  truth  was  that  Mistress  Kate,  seeing  it 


ROSES  AND  FORGET-ME-NOTS     279 

there,  had  remarked  to  her  assistant,  "Fancy  him 
keeping  it  all  those  years !  Well,  he  won't  want 
to  see  it  now  to  remind  him  of  his  first.  Take  it 
downstairs  carefully,  and  put  it  in  the  press  in 
Janet's  old  room  beside  Miss  Elspeth's  toys.  She 
may  perhaps  like  to  keep  it  as  a  memento  of  her 
mamma,  as  it  has  been  kept  so  long." 

The  girl  did  as  she  was  told,  but,  unfortunately, 
she  stumbled  at  the  dark  corner  of  the  stairs,  and 
the  slender  sugared  vase  fell  and  broke  in  two. 
Afraid  of  being  scolded  for  her  carelessness,  she 
said  nothing  about  it,  but  hid  it  in  the  back  of  the 
cupboard  behind  bricks  and  headless  dolls  and  old 
tops — Elspeth  having  been  early  initiated  into 
such  boyish  joys  by  her  male  relatives. 

There  Elspeth  found  it,  herself,  when  search- 
ing for  other  treasures  after  she  came  home,  with 
its  beauty  departed,  its  bridal  flowers  all  broken, 
its  graceful  vase  crushed  into  a  shapeless  mass. 
She  sat  down  with  it  on  her  lap  and  wept  over  it, 
feeling  somehow  as  if  a  deep  wave  of  sorrow 
went  over  her  soul  at  the  sight  of  it,  and  at  the 
sacred  remembrance  of  her  "little  sacraments" 
with  her  father,  and  that  old  life  which  had  now 
passed  away  for  ever. 

And  the  remains  of  the  wedding-cake  itself, 


280  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

with  its  delicious  almond  and  sugar-icing,  swung 
gaily  through  the  town  in  its  tin,  amongst  other 
treasures  hanging  on  to  the  end  of  a  dustman's 
cart,  as  he  took  it  away.  And  he  and  a  fellow- 
dustman  ate  it,  with  many  ribald  remarks  about 
its  being  "gey  fushionless  stuff,"  when  they  di- 
vided their  treasures  between  them  at  the  end  of 
their  daily  round. 

Thus  do  all  human  treasures  pass  away,  and 
what  one  holds  sacred  another  laughs  at. 

•  •  •  •  •  •  • 

But  now  it  was  June,  and  the  day  of  the  wed- 
ding. 

The  old  house  in  the  square,  fresh  and  spotless 
in  its  new  coat  of  grey  paint,  was  ready,  awaiting 
the  coming  of  its  second  bride.  New  lace  cur- 
tains fluttered  at  every  window,  new  carpets  were 
laid  down,  and  the  emptied  drawing-room  awaited 
the  opening  of  the  big  packing-cases,  which  were 
already  on  their  way  to  Scotland  with  the  new 
mistress's  dainty  possessions. 

In  Kensington  Gardens  the  sun  was  shining 
brightly,  the  birds  were  singing  blithely.  It  was 
an  ideal  day  for  a  wedding. 

Crimson  baize  was  laid  down  on  the  steps  of 
one  of  the  houses  near  by,  and  the  bride  in  her 


ROSES  AND  FORGET-ME-NOTS     281 

chamber  was  robing  for  the  ceremony  which  was 
to  take  place  that  day. 

In  the  drawing-room  adjoining,  a  cluster  of 
fair  bridesmaids  waited  for  her,  in  filmy  gowns 
of  white  tulle,  with  sashes  of  pale  rose-pink  silk, 
and  with  wreaths  of  wild  pink  roses  on  their 
heads.  There  were  six  of  them,  of  ages  varying 
from  twelve  to  twenty-five. 

Six  stiff  bouquets  of  pink  rosebuds,  edged  with 
lace  paper,  after  the  fashion  of  the  time — the 
bridegroom's  gifts — resposed  in  pointed  handles 
of  dainty  basket-work,  tied  with  pink  satin  rib- 
bons, on  the  oval  walnut  table.  A  seventh  and 
smaller  bouquet,  composed  of  forget-me-nots,  lay 
a  little  apart,  also  in  its  fine  wicker  handle,  but 
with  satin  ribbons  of  pale  blue. 

The  seventh,  and  odd  bridesmaid,  attired  the 
same  as  the  others,  but  with  a  wide  sash  of  pale 
blue  instead  of  pink,  and  her  head  wreathed  with 
forget-me-nots  in  place  of  roses,  with  sprays  of  the 
same  flowers  stitched  round  the  ruchings  of  tulle 
at  her  throat  and  wrists,  skipped  about  the  room 
amongst  the  group,  pirouetting,  trying  new  steps 
learned  from  her  dancing  master,  and  altogether 
vastly  pleased  with  herself.  It  was  Elspeth, 
showing  off  her  very  first  pair  of  white  kid  shoes. 


282  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

She  danced  along,  looking  at  her  feet  reflected 
in  the  glass  mirrors  of  the  walnut  chiffonier,  show- 
ing off  her  steps  and  her  shoes  at  the  same  time. 

Outwardly,  she  was  not  much  changed.  A 
little  taller,  her  curls  no  longer  bobbing  thickly 
round  her  head,  but  neatly  tied  back  with  pale 
blue  ribbon  on  the  top.  That  was  all  the  differ- 
ence in  her  appearance. 

But,  inwardly,  the  last  rags  and  tatters  of  her 
barbarism  were  disappearing,  as  her  grandfather 
had  predicted,  very  rapidly.  She  had  adapted 
herself  readily  to  her  altered  circumstances  and 
had  absorbed  her  environment  to  some  purpose. 
She  bowed  gracefully  now  if  you  met  her  out-of- 
doors,  instead  of  looking  shy  and  awkward  and 
stupid.  She  said,  "I  beg  your  pardon,"  if  she 
had  occasion  to  push  past  you,  or  "Please  forgive 
me,"  very  sweetly;  and  she  spoke  with  the  accent 
of  a  veritable  daughter  of  Albion,  save  for  a  few 
barbaric  expressions  which  still  occasionally 
cropped  up  unawares. 

Her  prospective  stepmother  was  very  pleased 
with  the  marked  improvement  in  her  manners 
and  appearance,  and  also  with  her  own  choice  of 
a  boarding-school  for  her.  Whether  her  old- 
fashioned  relatives  in  Scotland  would  look  upon 


ROSES  AND  FORGET-ME-NOTS     283 

it  as  an  improvement  or  not  was  another  matter. 

Now,  as  she  waltzed  and  pirouetted,  the  young- 
est of  the  group  of  pink  bridesmaids,  a  tall  slip 
of  an  English  maiden  of  the  age  of  great  wisdom 
— that  is  to  say,  twelve — named  Julia,  who  had  a 
pair  of  soft,  velvety  dark  eyes  and  a  profusion  of 
dark  hair,  stepped  out  from  amongst  them,  and 
taking  Elspeth  by  the  arm,  led  her  into  the  em- 
brasure of  a  window. 

"I  think  it's  lovely  fun  being  bridesmaids,  don't 
you?"  asked  Elspeth,  still  giving  little  hops  and 
skips  of  excitement. 

"I  don't  see  much  fun  in  it,"  replied  Julia. 
"My  wreath  pricks  horribly,  and  those  big  girls 
are  so  stuck  up.  Besides,  you  are  not  a  brides- 
maid, so  you  don't  know  anything  about  it." 

Elspeth's  eyes  flashed. 

"I  am  a  bridesmaid.     How  dare  you*?" 

"You  are  not,"  said  Julia  calmly.  "All  the 
bridesmaids  are  dressed  the  same  as  me  with  pink. 
You  have  got  blue." 

"I've  only  got  blue  because  of  my  queer  hair. 
Pink  wouldn't  become  it." 

"What  colour  would  you  call  your  hair*?" 
asked  Julia,  looking  at  it  critically,  shaking  back 
her  own  abundant  gipsy  locks. 


284  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

"It  depends  if  people  like  me  or  not,  I  think," 
said  Elspeth  simply.  "When  they  don't  like  me 
they  call  it  red  generally.  Grandfather  and  the 
Laird — my  great-uncle — called  it  'Sweet  Auburn, 

mistress  of  the '  something  or  other.  It  was 

a  piece  of  poetry  they  said.  And  my  father 
called  it  'bars  of  ruddy  gold.' ' 

Her  eyes  took  on  a  dreamy,  wistful  expres- 
sion. She  was  so  far  away  from  all  those  who 
loved  her.  "But,"  she  continued  innocently, 
"I  think  it  is  copper-coloured  myself.  I  matched 
it  exactly  once  with  a  nearly  new  penny." 

"It  is  red"  said  Julia,  with  unmistakable  em- 
phasis. 

Elspeth  flushed  crimson. 

"Oh,  but  not  carrots,"  she  said  pleadingly,  all 
the  old  grievance  welling  up.  "'Please  don't  say 
it  is  carrots." 

"Carrots"  said  the  fair  Julia.  And  from  with- 
in two  rows  of  pearly  teeth  there  came  out  slowly 
a  long,  narrow  strip  of  rose-red  flesh.  It  was  the 
bridesmaid's  tongue ! 

Elspeth  gazed  horrified.  Never  even  in  her 
naughtiest  days  had  she  dared  to  let  a  strip  of 
tongue  appear  from  between  her  own  lips.  Once 
only,  to  relieve  her  feelings  against  Janet,  had  she 


ROSES  AND  FORGET-ME-NOTS     285 

ventured  to  put  out  a  tip  in  the  silence  and  black- 
ness of  the  coal-cellar,  and  all  around  her  she  had 
heard  the  snipping  of  the  devil's  scissors,  eager  to 
cut  it  off.  She  had  never  forgotten  it. 

"If  you  ever  see  anybody  putting  out  their 
tongue,"  the  Dragon  had  told  her  emphatically, 
over  and  over  again,  "you  may  know  by  that  they 
are  the  very  lowest  of  the  low" 

And  here  was  Julia,  her  new  mother's  cousin 
and  bridesmaid,  the  daughter  of  a  clergyman,  and 
a  schoolfellow  of  her  own,  showing  not  only  a  tip, 
but  the  whole  thing,  fully  displayed  as  if  for  the 
doctor's  investigation ! 

Elspeth  turned  away  in  disgust. 

"I  shall  ask  mamma  if  I  am  not  a  bridesmaid," 
she  said,  lingering  a  little  over  that  new,  delight- 
ful word;  "for  I  am  sure  I  am.  My  father  would 
never  be  married  without  having  me  for  a  brides- 
maid." 

"My  cousin  Lilian  isn't  your  mamma  yet,"  con- 
tinued the  tormentor. 

"She  will  be  by  the  time  the  clock  strikes 
twelve,"  said  Elspeth  calmly. 

"And  she  doesn't  want  you  to  call  her  'mamma' 
to-day  either,  for  she  said  so  to  my  mother." 

"Why  not*?" 


286  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

"Because  she  doesn't  want  people  to  know 
there  is  such  a  little  minx  as  you  in  existence.  So 
there!" 

Further  discussion  was  cut  short  at  this  junc- 
ture by  the  entrance  of  the  bride  herself. 

Very  charming  did  Miss  Lilian  look  in  her  long 
trailing  bridal  robes  of  white  satin,  with  her  lace 
veil  slightly  thrown  off  her  face. 

There  was  something  not  inapt  in  the  Dragon's 
calling  her  a  "butterfly."  So  sylph-like  was  her 
figure,  so  small  and  dainty  her  waist,  so  much  of 
the  "airy,  fairy  Lilian"  was  there  about  her,  that 
to  call  her  a  butterfly  was  in  that  sense  applica- 
ble. 

But  in  nothing  else.  The  slender  white  hand, 
on  which  her  lover's  diamonds  sparkled  and  glit- 
tered, was  as  firm  and  practical  as  the  Dragon's 
own,  and  as  well  capable  of  holding  the  reins  of 
a  somewhat  romantic  and  imaginative  household. 

Elspeth's  father  was  a  man  of  artistic  tastes, 
and  was  keenly  sensitive  to  dainty  feminine 
beauty.  It  was  still  an  age  of  graceful  and  deli- 
cate femininity.  His  first  wife  had  done  credit 
to  his  good  taste.  So  did  his  second. 

A  chorus  of  admiration  greeted  the  bride's 
appearance.  "How  sweet !"  "How  charming !" 


ROSES  AND  FORGET-ME-NOTS     287 

"Dearest  Lilian,  are  you  not  terribly  nervous?  I 
should  be." 

And  all  the  rose-wreathed  maidens  clustered 
round  her,  a  pretty  group. 

The  bride  was  pale,  and  there  were  traces  of 
tears  round  her  eyes;  but  she  seated  herself 
calmly  enough,  and,  smiling  at  the  assembled 
girls,  began  to  put  on  her  gloves. 

Elspeth,  having  tenderly  smoothed  down  the 
rich  satin  of  the  bride's  dress  with  her  fingers  (an 
old,  familiar  action  bred  in  a  wardrobe  drawer), 
withdrew  a  little  from  her,  not  having  yet  fully 
recovered  from  the  cold  douches  administered  by 
Julia.  But  now  she  heard  that  young  lady  say  in 
a  loud,  terribly  distinct  voice  to  the  bride : 

"Cousin  Lilian,  I  want  to  know  if  Elspeth  is  one 
of  your  bridesmaids  or  not.  She  says  she  is,  and 
my  mamma  said  she  wasn't  going  to  be  one.  Is 
she  one1?" 

And  the  bride's  firm  answer:  "No.  Of  course 
she  isn't  one.  You  bridesmaids  are  all  in  pink. 
It  is  a  rose  wedding." 

Elspeth  walked  into  the  embrasure  of  the 
window  again  and  waited  there  silently,  watching 
the  carriages  arrive  in  the  road  beneath  to  convey 
them  all  to  church.  Under  the  white  frock  a  lit- 


288  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

tie  heart  was  beating  wildly,  and  the  forget-me- 
nots  round  her  throat  rose  and  fell  tumultuously. 
Julia  followed  her. 

"I  hope  you  heard,"  she  said. 

Elspeth  answered  her  very  quietly.  She  had 
not  learnt  self-control  in  the  Dragon's  severe 
school  for  nothing. 

"Yes,  I  heard,  but  it  makes  no  difference.  I 
am  my  father's  bridesmaid  all  the  same,"  she 
replied. 

"Silly!  Bridegrooms  don't  have  bridesmaids. 
They  have  groomsmen." 

"You  don't  know  what  they  have  in  Scotland. 
My  father  and  I  are  both  Scotch.  We  do  Scotch 
ways,"  said  Elspeth  calmly,  but  with  some 
dignity. 

Julia  had  not  thought  of  that. 

"I  suppose  weddings  are  quite  different  in 
Scotland*?"  she  inquired. 

"Quite  different,"  replied  Elspeth,  who  had 
never  been  at  a  wedding  of  any  kind  in  her  life 
before  and  knew  nothing  at  all  about  it.  She 
had,  however,  no  intention  of  giving  herself  away. 

The  bridesmaids  were  here  summoned  away 
one  by  one  to  their  carriages,  with  Elspeth  amongst 
them,  and  the  conversation  ceased. 


CHAPTER  XX 

A    PASSING    BELL 

WHEN  the  bride's  procession  formed  at  the 
entrance  to  the  church  Elspeth  dropped 
behind. 

Julia,  passing  to  her  place  as  one  of  the  last 
pair  of  bridesmaids,  took  the  opportunity  of  giv- 
ing her  a  wicked  pinch  on  the  fleshy  part  of  her 
arm,  which,  being  only  veiled  by  the  thin  tulle, 
hurt  her  very  much,  as  she  passed.  But  Elspeth 
was  beyond  feeling  such  indignities.  She  had 
not  seen  her  father  since  his  visit  to  London  dur- 
ing the  Christmas  holidays,  except  for  a  few  flying 
minutes  the  night  before.  She  was  now  going  to 
see  him  in  all  the  bravery  of  his  bridal  attire. 
Not  every  little  girl  saw  her  father  married.  He 
should  see  his  one  only  little  bridesmaid  with  a 
smiling  face  under  her  crown  of  forget-me-nots, 
however  much  her  pride  had  been  hurt. 

The  organ  pealed,  the  procession  started  slowly 
up  the  aisle.  Elspeth  walked  alone  behind  the  six 

pink  bridesmaids  with  her  head  erect. 

289 


290  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

"Give  me  your  hand,  dear,"  said  a  kind, 
motherly  lady,  dressed  in  mauve  silk,  who  was 
following.  But  Elspeth  wriggled  hers  away. 

"No,  thank  you,"  she  whispered  back.  "You 
see  I  am  the  bridegroom's  little  bridesmaid,  so  I 
must  walk  alone." 

So  alone,  behind  the  others,  the  forget-me-not 
maiden  passed  up  the  aisle,  with  flushed  cheeks 
and  eager  eyes,  watching  for  the  bridegroom. 

The  bride  and  her  maidens  grouped  themselves 
at  the  altar.  The  lady  in  mauve,  standing  near 
the  altar-rails,  drew  Elspeth  beside  her  where  she 
could  see  better.  A  corner  of  the  bride's  square 
train  spread  itself  out  at  her  feet.  The  child  was 
looking  straight  at  her  father's  face. 

"How  lovely  he  is!"  thought  his  bridesmaid 
adoringly.  "I  must  look  at  his  dress,  so  as  to  tell 
grandpapa  all  about  it  when  I  write  to  him. 
White  silk  waistcoat,  white  silk  tie,  the  new  gold 
studs  that  Miss  Lilian  has  given  him  for  a  wedding 
present,  a  lovely  new  coat — he  said  his  other  was 
getting  rather  glazy — and  a  white  rose  in  his  but- 
tonhole, because  it  is  a  rose  wedding  and  he  loves 
roses  the  best  of  all.  I  can't  see  his  trousers  from 
here,  but  he  said  they  were  to  be  lavender  to 
match  his  gloves.  He  does  look  beautiful.  But 


A  PASSING  BELL  291 

oh !  I  see  some  white  hairs  in  his  darling  head.  He 
had  none  when  I  was  at  home,  not  one.  He  has 
had  no  little  companion  to  comfort  him  for  a  whole 
year.  He  was  often  so  very  lonely  and  sad.  But 
he  shall  have  her  soon  now.  It  is  only  six  weeks 
till  the  summer  holidays." 

His  bridesmaid  here  thought  she  had  caught  his 
eye  and  smiled  brightly  to  him.  A  loving  look 
spread  over  his  expressive  face,  the  look  which 
Elspeth  seeing  in  the  old  days  had  responded  to 
always  by  rushing  into  his  arms,  springing  upon 
him  in  an  abandonment  of  childish  affection,  to 
be  smothered  in  loving  kisses.  She  could  not  do 
that  here,  but  a  rapturous  look  of  responsive  love 
beamed  in  her  face,  and  she  was  wreathed  in  radi- 
ant smiles  as  well  as  forget-me-nots. 

But,  alas !  the  bridegroom  never  saw  her.  The 
truth  was  he  was  vastly  nervous  over  the  whole 
affair,  and  the  rustling  of  the  clerical  vestments 
behind  the  altar-rails  almost  took  away  the  last 
remnants  of  his  self-possession.  To  the  simple 
Scotsman,  all  this  paraphernalia  of  an  English 
wedding  in  a  fashionable,  and  rather  high,  West 
End  church  was  a  terrible  experience.  The  scent 
of  the  flowers,  the  rich  tones  of  the  organ,  the 
sweet  voices  of  the  choristers,  and  the  movements 


292  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

of  the  white-robed  clergy,  caused  something  like 
consternation  in  the  heart  of  the  bridegroom. 

On  his  previous  experience  of  a  wedding  he  had 
simply  listened  in  silence  to  a  homily  addressed  to 
him  by  the  Doctor,  his  own  personal  part  in  the 
ceremony  being  confined  to  the  putting  on  of  the 
ring,  and  meekly  bowing  his  head  in  token  of 
acquiescence  of  the  Doctor's  exhortations.  In  the 
Elder's  own  house  too,  surrounded  by  many  sym- 
pathetic friends  and  acquaintances,  with  his  uncle, 
the  Laird,  beaming  on  him  all  the  time,  not  in  a 
large  church  with  hundreds  of  people  watching, 
all  of  them  strange,  even  his  very  groomsman  be- 
ing an  utter  stranger  to  him. 

He  had  been  studying  the  Prayer-book  all  the 
way  up  from  Scotland,  and  was  horrified  to  find 
he  would  have  to  say  his  part  alone  and  aloud. 
To  speak  out  loud  in  a  church  was  a  dreadful 
thing — the  horror  of  a  sacrilege  inherited  from 
generations  of  Presbyterian  ancestors. 

Also,  during  a  little  rehearsal  of  the  marriage 
service  at  Miss  Lilian's  house  the  night  before, 
he  had  failed  in  his  part  signally  and  utterly, 
repeating  her  words  instead  of  his  own,  and 
stumbling  fatally  over  the  plighting  of  his  troth. 
It  was  the  bride's  face  which  the  nervous  bride- 


A  PASSING  BELL  293 

groom  sought  for  encouragement,  and,  having 
seen  her  answering  smile  to  him,  he  let  his  loving 
eyes  remain  there,  and  never  saw  a  bridesmaid  nor 
any  one  else.  Then  the  service  commenced. 

Slowly  it  dawned  upon  Elspeth  that  she  was 
forgotten.  She  rose  up  and  knelt  down 
mechanically,  with  her  little  face  very  serious. 
In  those  old  days,  which  seemed  now  to  be 
drifting  away  so  fast,  she  and  her  father  had 
always  exchanged  a  little  look  as  they  changed 
positions  in  church.  It  was  nothing,  only  that 
both  had  loving  and  sensitive  natures,  and  that 
in  the  heart  of  each  there  was  an  empty  void, 
which  ached  almost  without  their  knowing  it. 

He  had  come  up  to  London  at  Christmas,  and 
on  the  two  Sundays  he  spent  there  had  taken  his 
little  girl  to  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  the  Foundling 
Hospital,  Westminster  Abbey,  and  to  hear  the 
great  Spurgeon  preach  in  his  Tabernacle.  There 
he  had  renewed  this  little  tacit  arrangement  be- 
tween them,  taking  her  hand  softly  in  his  at  cer- 
tain stages,  smiling  down  upon  her  at  others. 
They  were  a  sentimental  couple,  both  of  them, 
totally  un-Scottish  in  their  demonstrative  ways 
when  they  were  alone  together  with  nobody  to  see. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  the  child  felt  that 


294  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

she  was  left  absolutely  alone,  a  unit  in  a  crowd. 
She  smiled  bravely  once  more  as  she  rose  from  her 
knees  the  next  time,  but  there  was  no  answering 
smile  from  her  father.  Indeed,  his  kind  face  had 
assumed  a  rather  stern  expression,  and  there  were 
lines  of  anxiety  between  his  eyes.  (Had  he  put 
the  ring  in  his  pocket,  or  not?  when  he  was  hesi- 
tating which  waistcoat  to  put  on — the  white  or 
the  black.  That  was  what  he  was  worrying 
about.) 

It  was  very  silly  of  Elspeth,  no  doubt,  but 
the  tears  slowly  gathered  in  her  eyes.  All  her 
short  life  she  had  been  first  with  him,  the  little 
queen  of  his  heart.  From  some  dim  recess  of  her 
brain  (where  do  we  keep  them,  I  wonder,  those 
words  fired  at  random  to  come  back  and  hurt*?) 
she  remembered  a  stray  conversation  with  one  of 
the  Dragon's  friends,  a  low-class  one.  An  in- 
sinuating smile;  a  remark  on  "a  fine,  big  Miss;" 
and,  "Ye'll  hae  a  lad  noo.  Wha's  your  sweet- 
hert'?"  And  her  own  dignified  answer: 

'The  Laird  is  my  lad.  But  my  father  is  my 
sweetheart." 

Then  the  vulgar  laugh. 

"Wait  till  your  paw-paw  gets  anither  wife,  and 
you'll  no  be  his  sweethert  ony  langer." 


A  PASSING  BELL  295 

He  had  another  wife.  He  had  just  put  the 
ring  on  his  bride's  finger.  And  already  he  had 
forgotten  his  little  sweetheart  of  the  lonely  and 
lean  years.  Was  it  true?  Elspeth  wondered. 

They  knelt  again.  Lower  and  lower  sank  the 
flower-crowned  head  of  the  bridegroom's  maid, 
bending  over  her  bouquet  of  forget-me-nots. 

A  thought  suddenly  flashed  across  her.  It  was 
naughty  in  church,  but  she  remembered  how  the 
flowers  always  spoke  true.  The  Laird  had  told 
her  to  listen  at  all  times,  and  in  all  circumstances, 
to  the  voice  of  Nature,  for  she  never  lied.  How 
often,  on  the  gowan-spangled  brae  in  front  of  the 
Laird's  house,  had  the  rich,  yellow  buttercups, 
held  under  his  shaven  chin,  told  her  that  he  liked 
butter  and  cream1?  How  often  had  the  big  dog- 
daisies  gathered  in  the  fields,  and  the  wee,  crimson- 
tipped  ones,  told  her  that  he  loved  her?  She 
would  try  the  forget-me-nots.  In  church,  in  that 
sacred  place,  they  would  be  sure  to  tell  her  true. 

She  was  kneeling  quite  close  to  the  bride,  and 
was  screened  from  the  view  of  the  other  guests 
by  the  large  and  portly  figure  of  the  mauve  lady. 
A  corner  of  the  bride's  train,  niched  with  white 
lisse  rose-petals,  with  here  and  there  a  crystal 
dewdrop  glittering  amongst  them,  lay  at  her  feet. 


296  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

Elspeth  thought  the  dewdrops  looked  like  tears. 
She  bent  lower  over  her  bouquet,  and  singling 
out  a  large  forget-me-not  blossom  let  the  petals 
drop,  one  by  one,  amongst  the  rose-leaves  and  dew- 
drops  on  the  bridal  train. 

"He  forgets  me,  forgets  me  not,  forgets  me, 
forgets  me  not,  forgets  me,"  she  repeated  slowly  to 
herself. 

Her  heart  sank  at  the  result. 

But  that  was  only  one  time  of  doing  it.  The 
daisies  often  said  the  Laird  did  not  love  her  to 
begin  with.  The  Spirit  of  Divination  was  often 
in  a  contrary,  teasing  mood.  She  wo.uld  try 
again. 

"He  forgets  me,  forgets  me  not,  forgets  me, 
forgets  me  not,  forgets  me." 

Elspeth  stared,  horror-stricken.  It  could  not 
be.  Perhaps  it  was  because  she  was  naughty, 
doing  it  in  church.  The  third  time  might  change 
and  then  she  would  have  another  chance.  Once 
more: 

"He  forgets  me,  forgets  me  not,  forgets  me, 
forgets  me  not,  forgets  me." 

It  was  true  then.  He  had  forgotten  her.  For, 
alas !  the  poor  little  mystic  flowers  had  an  unequal 
number  of  petals,  and  if  she  had  pulled  the  whole 


A  PASSING  BELL  297 

bouquet  to  pieces  every  blossom  would,  probably, 
have  answered  in  the  same  way,  unless  she  had 
begun  her  incantation  differently. 

A  smart  tap  on  the  arm  from  the  mauve  lady 
roused  her.  Every  one  was  standing  up  now 
except  herself.  She  rose  slowly  from  her  knees. 
Her  eyes  were  dim  with  tears,  well-nigh  to 
brimming  over.  The  ceremony  was  concluded. 
Her  father  and  stepmother  were  now  man  and 
wife. 

They  passed  with  the  witnesses  into  the  vestry. 
Elspeth  saw  nothing.  In  a  dream  they  went  out, 
and  in  a  dream  they  returned.  Forget-me-not 
petals  lay  unseen  on  the  bride's  train,  nestling  be- 
side the  rose-petals  and  the  dewdrops  which  looked 
like  tears. 

In  a  dream  she  saw  the  procession  form  again, 
and  took  her  solitary  place  at  the  end  of  it.  She 
never  saw  the  bride  smiling  and  bowing  to  her 
friends,  nor  the  bridegroom,  triumphant  over  the 
successful  passing  of  his  ordeal,  looking  round  for 
herself,  for  in  her  misery  she  had  hidden  herself 
more  than  ever  behind  that  conveniently  stout 
lady.  He  had  forgotten  her.  That  was  all. 
Nothing  else  mattered. 

The  bridal  procession  passed  down  the  aisle 


298  A  GARDEN  'OF  SPICES 

again,  the  bridegroom's  maid  still  walking  behind, 
alone,  with  head  erect  and  dewy  eyes.  No  one 
interfered.  They  did  not  know  if  that  was 
meant  to  be  her  place  or  not.  She  was  alone, 
forgotten.  Some  thought  it  looked  rather 
strange  to  see  the  smallest  bridesmaid  at  the  end, 
attired  the  same,  yet  differently  to  the  rest,  but 
they  put  it  down  to  some  unknown  Scottish 
fashion. 

The  carriages  filled  up  and  rolled  away. 
Elspeth  was  crowded  in  with  Julia  and  another 
bridesmaid  beside  another  strange  lady.  The 
child  gazed  out  of  the  carriage  window  in  a  be- 
wildered fashion. 

The  bells  were  now  crashing  out  a  merry  peal. 
To  Elspeth  they  rang  a  knell — the  knell  of  her 
passing  childhood.  Henceforth,  she  was  but  a 
schoolgirl,  an  atom  in  the  world  of  ordinary  girls. 
To  be  teased  and  made  fun  of ;  to  be  made  to  sub- 
mit to  all  the  annoyances  and  petty  tyrannies 
which  girls  can  inflict,  when  they  like,  on  one  of 
their  number,  who  is  much  younger  in  every  way 
than  the  rest,  and  whom  they  think  "odd."  She 
was  no  one,  henceforth.  The  bells  were  tolling 
for  the  passing  of  Elspeth  Arnot,  Queen  of  Three 


A  PASSING  BELL  299 

Hearts,  from  the  kingdom  of  her  childhood  into 
obscurity. 

Julia  began  to  educate  her  by  slowly  rubbing 
a  slim,  nearly  full-grown  foot  up  and  down  the 
child's  white  kid  shoes,  with  a  malicious  expression 
on  her  face.  She  had  seen  the  pirouetting  in 
front  of  the  drawing-room  and  guessed  its  object. 
She  murmured  aloud: 

"Conceited  imp !  You  were  not  a  bridesmaid, 
you  see,  after  all.  I  told  you  so.  Carrots!" 

Elspeth  never  heard  her.  She  simply  gazed  in 
front  of  her,  dumb  and  unseeing.  I  doubt  if  she 
even  felt  the  rubbing  up  and  down  and  soiling  of 
her  precious  shoes.  Her  body  was  in  the  carriage, 
but  her  spirit  was  far  away  from  the  present. 

Galloping  on  moorland  paths  on  Donald  Dhu's 
shaggy  back,  held  on  by  the  firm  white  hand  of 
one  true  love — she  could  feel  the  pressure  of  his 
ring  on  her  arm.  Roaming  with  him  amongst 
the  bees  and  butterflies,  amid  the  scent  of  the  wild 
thyme,  hand  in  hand,  while  the  pony  browsed 
amongst  the  heather.  Dancing  in  his  study — for 
it  was  he  who  taught  her  dancing,  and  her  French 
dancing  master  had  an  easy  time  of  it.  It  was 
the  Laird,  with  the  blood  of  courtiers  in  his  veins, 


300  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

who  taught  her  to  dance  as  he  had  danced  himself 
in  the  days  of  his  youth,  although  he  never  held  up 
the  skirts  of  his  coat-tails  as  M.  le  Comte  did. 
(For,  of  course,  the  dancing  master  was  a  French 
count  in  disguise.) 

Sitting  in  a  rocking-boat  with  her  other  true 
love  holding  on  grimly  to  the  stern,  with  slippery 
fish  of  her  catching  on  the  seat  beside  him, 
choosing  her  awkward  rowing,  with  probably  death 
at  the  end  of  it,  rather  than  life  without  her. 
How  far  away  she  was  from  those  old  loves,  and 
that  old  happy,  ideal  life!  Even  the  Dragon 
had  been  but  an  angel  in  disguise. 

Oh,  to  be  anywhere,  everywhere,  rather  than 
following  in  the  joyous  bridal  train  of  the  third, 
her  best  beloved  and  dearest  of  all — who  had 
forgotten  her ! 

And  through  it  all  the  bells — crashing,  tolling 
bells — kept  ringing — ringing — as  the  waters  of 
Life  closed  round  her  childish  heart,  swirling, 
eddying,  carrying  her  on  with  a  rush,  as  the  great 
tidal  river  rushed  under  the  bridge  on  its  way  to 
the  sea  near  her  home. 

But  -did  he  really  forget?  Or  was  it  only  the 
imagination  of  a  romantic  child's  loving  and  fool- 


A  PASSING  BELL  301 

ish  heart — some  phantasy  of  the  brain  pertaining 
to  the  natural  inheritance  of  that  strangely  com- 
plex temperament  which  we  call  the  Celtic1?  Or 
was  it  really  a  premonition  handed  down  from 
Highland  ancestors  in  the  shape  of  second  sight 
and,  therefore,  a  true  glimpse  into  the  future*? 

Ah,  that  is  another  story  and  belongs  to  a  new 
reign.  The  Queen  is  dead.  Long  live  the  Queen. 

In  real  life  men  do  forget.  And  women  too, 
for  that  matter.  Only  in  the  heart  of  the  child 
dwell  the  never-to-be-forgotten  memories,  laid 
away  in  lavender  and  rue.  To  be  taken  out,  per- 
haps, and  unfolded,  only  after  the  rue  has  dropped 
to  pieces  and  all  its  bitterness  is  gone.  But  the 
sweet  fragrance  of  the  lavender  remains  for  ever, 
emblem  of  the  Eternal,  which  is  the  Heart  of  True 
Love. 


AFTERMATH 

AND  now  it  is  eventide,  the  cool  of  the  day, 
when  God  walks  in  gardens. 

A  gentle  breeze  has  risen.  The  evening  star 
shines  through  the  rustling  leaves  of  the  lime- 
trees  at  my  gate.  There  is  a  touch  of  autumn 
in  the  air.  Sunflowers  lean  their  wistful  heads 
over  the  wall  to  the  west,  where  the  sun  has  sunk 
reluctantly  into  the  margin  of  the  sea. 

It  is  not  a  part  of  the  country  for  fine  sunsets, 
but  there  is  a  slight,  rosy  afterglow  lingering  still 
on  the  horizon. 

The  lilies  are  over  in  my  garden,  although 
roses  and  late  sweet-peas  still  shed  their  sweet 
autumnal  fragrance  on  the  air. 

A  pale,  silvery  disk  of  crescent  moon  rises  over 
the  ridge  of  white  cliffs. 

I  am  alone — yet  not  alone. 

It  is  also  the  quiet  eventide  of  a  woman's  life, 
when  the  clouds  have  all  rolled  away.  Long 
shafts  of  golden  light,  shining  over  the  purple 

hills  of  the  past,  form  pathways  from  past  to 

302 


AFTERMATH  303 

present,  from  present  to  future.  It  is  as  the 
clear  shining  which  cometh  after  rain.  The  pil- 
grim but  rests  at  sundown  in  the  arbour  prepared 
for  weary  travellers  by  the  Lord  of  the  Way. 

Soon  winter  will  be  here,  when  I  must  lie  en- 
closed within  the  four  walls  of  an  invalid's  room, 
a  prisoner  of  hope.  But  now  I  am  still  on  my 
garden  couch,  watching  the  evening  star,  and 
listening — for  what*? 

I  am  not  ashamed  even  yet,  in  my  solitary  and 
unromantic  middle  age,  to  dream  dreams  and  see 
visions.  As  in  the  old  far-off  days  phantom  forms 
guided  my  childish  feet  over  flowery  meads  and 
thorny  paths,  so  now  they  wait  just  beyond  the 
greenery  at  my  gate  to  keep  tryst  with  me.  The 
trys  ting-pi  ace  is  just  beyond  the  lime-trees. 

I  see  the  Doctor  of  Thunders,  his  leonine  ex- 
pression softened  by  his  new  views  from  the  other 
side,  his  range  of  vision  altered  in  the  proximity 
of  that  Light  which  never  shone  on  sea  or  land. 

Hendry,  of  the  radiant  personality,  surrounded 
by  crowds  whom  he  has  helped  there  by  his  beauti- 
ful teaching  of  the  Gospel  of  Love.  His  mag- 
netic laugh  echoes  even  into  my  quiet  garden. 
The  little  brother,  whom  he  holds  by  the  hand,  is 
my  phantom,  Freddy. 


304  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

The  Laird,  rumpling  up  his  silver  curls,  in  his 
old,  familiar  fashion,  half -shy,  half -nervous,  as 
was  his  wont  when  waiting  to  receive  a  much- 
loved,  long-expected  friend. 

Grandfather,  the  Elder,  with  his  long,  white, 
"terrible-straight"  hair  blowing  in  the  celestial 
breezes.  They  will  not  lose  the  beautiful  silver 
hair  in  the  new  life,  I  think. 

"Fair  was  the  crown  to  behold,  and  beauty  its  poorest 

part — 

At  once  the  scar  of  the  wound,  and  the  order  pinned 
on  the  heart." 

I  can  see  many  more.  But  behind  these  a  little 
I  see  the  Dragon.  Yes,  the  Dragon — changed, 
her  self-confidence  gone,  her  stern  lips  relaxed, 
even  breaking  into  a  smile.  A  little  wintry,  per- 
haps, her  personality  not  altogether  different  even 
yet,  but  modified,  as  it  was  the  last  time  I  saw  her 
in  life. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  cried  then,  holding  out  her 
trembling,  aged  hands.  "Forgive  me  for  being 
so  severe.  My  views  were  narrow.  They  are  al- 
tered now.  I  wanted  you  to  grow  up  good.  I 
knew  nothing  at  all  about  children.  I  thought 
chastisement  was  the  riglit  way  to  bring  them  up, 
the  only  way  to  cast  out  original  sin  and  to  make 


AFTERMATH  305 

their  calling  and  election  sure.  Forgive  me! 
Tell  me  you  bear  me  no  malice.  I  loved  you  all 
the  time,  but  I  had  been  brought  up  so  strictly 
myself,  that  I  thought  it  was  the  only  way." 

No,  dear,  altered  Dragon.  I  bear  you  no 
malice.  Only  love  matters.  I  remember  your 
prayers,  and  tears,  and  joyful  thanksgivings  over 
any  faint  flutterings  of  grace  shown  in  my  way- 
ward heart,  as  well  as  your  whippings.  And  if, 
on  looking  back,  some  of  them  appear  to  me  to 
have  been  unmerited,  a  good  many  of  them  were 
richly  deserved.  Therefore  we  are  quits. 

But  there  is  one  amongst  these  waiting  loved 
ones  in  the  forefront,  close  to  the  gate,  of  whom 
I  cannot  write.  The  youngest,  the  most  radiant 
of  them  all,  the  latest  gone.  She  slipped  out  of 
my  garden  with  the  lilies.  She,  too,  is  waiting  for 
me,  peering  eagerly  round  the  corner  and  saying : 

"Is  she  not  coming  yet?" 

She  is  holding  on  lovingly  to  my  mother's  hand, 
this  child  of  a  later  generation  than  my  own. 
There  is  a  shimmer  of  gold  and  copper-red  where 
their  two  heads  are  touching.  My  mother  is  smil- 
ing at  her  eagerness,  holding  her  back  a  little,  and 
replying : 

"Soon,  soon.     Perhaps  this  winter." 


306  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

And  I,  listening,  echo  back  from  earth  with 
rapture : 

"Perhaps  this  winter." 

Then  the  long-caged  prisoner  will  be  free,  and 
the  shadows  of  the  prison-house  will  enfold  me  no 
more. 

For  the  evening  brings  all  Home. 

And  the  Garden  of  Peace,  with  the  Tree  of 
Life  standing  in  the  midst  thereof,  is  the  trysting- 
place  which  is  just  beyond  the  lime-trees. 


THE    END 


AFTERMATH  303 

present,  from  present  to  future.  It  is  as  the 
clear  shining  which  cometh  after  rain.  The  pil- 
grim but  rests  at  sundown  in  the  arbour  prepared 
for  weary  travellers  by  the  Lord  of  the  Way. 

Soon  winter  will  be  here,  when  I  must  lie  en- 
closed within  the  four  walls  of  an  invalid's  room, 
a  prisoner  of  hope.  But  now  I  am  still  on  my 
garden  couch,  watching  the  evening  star,  and 
listening — for  what*? 

I  am  not  ashamed  even  yet,  in  my  solitary  and 
unromantic  middle  age,  to  dream  dreams  and  see 
visions.  As  in  the  old  far-off  days  phantom  forms 
guided  my  childish  feet  over  flowery  meads  and 
thorny  paths,  so  now  they  wait  just  beyond  the 
greenery  at  my  gate  to  keep  tryst  with  me.  The 
trysting-place  is  just  beyond  the  lime-trees. 

I  see  the  Doctor  of  Thunders,  his  leonine  ex- 
pression softened  by  his  new  views  from  the  other 
side,  his  range  of  vision  altered  in  the  proximity 
of  that  Light  which  never  shone  on  sea  or  land. 

Hendry,  of  the  radiant  personality,  surrounded 
by  crowds  whom  he  has  helped  there  by  his  beauti- 
ful teaching  of  the  Gospel  of  Love.  His  mag- 
netic laugh  echoes  even  into  my  quiet  garden. 
The  little  brother,  whom  he  holds  by  the  hand,  is 
my  phantom,  Freddy. 


304  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

The  Laird,  rumpling  up  his  silver  curls,  in  his 
old,  familiar  fashion,  half-shy,  half-nervous,  as 
was  his  wont  when  waiting  to  receive  a  much- 
loved,  long-expected  friend. 

Grandfather,  the  Elder,  with  his  long,  white, 
"terrible-straight"  hair  blowing  in  the  celestial 
breezes.  They  will  not  lose  the  beautiful  silver 
hair  in  the  new  life,  I  think. 

"Fair  was  the  crown  to  behold,  and  beauty  its  poorest 

part — 

At  once  the  scar  of  the  wound,  and  the  order  pinned 
on  the  heart." 

I  can  see  many  more.  But  behind  these  a  little 
I  see  the  Dragon.  Yes,  the  Dragon — changed, 
her  self-confidence  gone,  her  stern  lips  relaxed, 
even  breaking  into  a  smile.  A  little  wintry,  per- 
haps, her  personality  not  altogether  different  even 
yet,  but  modified,  as  it  was  the  last  time  I  saw  her 
in  life. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  cried  then,  holding  out  her 
trembling,  aged  hands.  "Forgive  me  for  being 
so  severe.  My  views  were  narrow.  They  are  al- 
tered now.  I  wanted  you  to  grow  up  good.  I 
knew  nothing  at  all  about  children.  I  thought 
chastisement  was  the  right  way  to  bring  them  up, 
the  only  way  to  cast  out  original  sin  and  to  make 


AFTERMATH  305 

their  calling  and  election  sure.  Forgive  me! 
Tell  me  you  bear  me  no  malice.  I  loved  you  all 
the  time,  but  I  had  been  brought  up  so  strictly 
myself,  that  I  thought  it  was  the  only  way." 

No,  dear,  altered  Dragon.  I  bear  you  no 
malice.  Only  love  matters.  I  remember  your 
prayers,  and  tears,  and  joyful  thanksgivings  over 
any  faint  flutterings  of  grace  shown  in  my  way- 
ward heart,  as  well  as  your  whippings.  And  if, 
on  looking  back,  some  of  them  appear  to  me  to 
have  been  unmerited,  a  good  many  of  them  were 
richly  deserved.  Therefore  we  are  quits. 

But  there  is  one  amongst  these  waiting  loved 
ones  in  the  forefront,  close  to  the  gate,  of  whom 
I  cannot  write.  The  youngest,  the  most  radiant 
of  them  all,  the  latest  gone.  She  slipped  out  of 
my  garden  with  the  lilies.  She,  too,  is  waiting  for 
me,  peering  eagerly  round  the  corner  and  saying : 

"Is  she  not  coming  yet?" 

She  is  holding  on  lovingly  to  my  mother's  hand, 
this  child  of  a  later  generation  than  my  own. 
There  is  a  shimmer  of  gold  and  copper-red  where 
their  two  heads  are  touching.  My  mother  is  smil- 
ing at  her  eagerness,  holding  her  back  a  little,  and 
replying: 

"Soon,  soon.     Perhaps  this  winter." 


306  A  GARDEN  OF  SPICES 

And  I,  listening,  echo  back  from  earth  with 
rapture : 

"Perhaps  this  winter." 

Then  the  long-caged  prisoner  will  be  free,  and 
the  shadows  of  the  prison-house  will  enfold  me  no 
more. 

For  the  evening  brings  all  Home. 

And  the  Garden  of  Peace,  with  the  Tree  of 
Life  standing  in  the  midst  thereof,  is  the  trys ting- 
place  which  is  just  beyond  the  lime-trees. 


THE    END 


A     000  043  705     3 


